


Going Home

by LadyJFox



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Drama & Romance, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-11 19:49:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 40,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13531320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyJFox/pseuds/LadyJFox
Summary: Quatre has a secret that comes out unexpectedly and now everyone has to deal with the fallout. The news is hardest on Trowa, who still loves him, even after years of breaking up.





	1. 1

Heero stood from his chair. “Cora’s birthday party is on a Friday in a few weeks. Any chance you’ll be able to make it?”

Quatre walked around his desk, looking over some files as he went. “Should,” he replied. “I’d planned on it anyway.”

“Relena’s going to be sending out specifics in any day now,” Heero added in afterthought as Quatre walked him out.

“I’ll keep my eye out,” Quatre said. “Heero.” Heero paused and turned to Quatre. “Thanks for stopping by.”

“You should really start dating again,”

Quatre fitted Heero with a pointed and playfully annoyed expression. “You can go away now.”

“Alright,” Heero said with a shrug and a small smile. Quatre turned around and walked back toward his office. “Friday,” Heero called after him. Quatre waved him off dismissively.

Quatre’s assistant looked up as Heero started walking past. “He really does appreciate the visit Mr. Yuy.” Heero stopped and looked down at the guy sitting at his desk.

“He still doesn’t get out much, does he?”

The assistant shook his head. “He just works all the time. He enjoys what he does, don’t get me wrong. He believes in the work he’s directing, even if he isn’t doing the engineering himself,” the guy said. “But I don’t think he’ll ever be interested in anyone else.”

“They always did fit well together,” Heero mused, half-turning toward Quatre’s closed door. “Quatre’s just got cold feet. He’ll bounce back. He’s a sociable guy.”

“Who works ninety hours a week. There’s a reason he doesn’t go out.”

A loud crash sounded from Quatre’s office. Both men’s heads whipped around to stare in the direction of the noise. In an instant, Heero was running back the way he’d come. “Call the paramedics,” Quatre’s assistant yelled as he followed in close pursuit.

Heero slammed the door, busting it open. He paused in the doorway, looking for the cause of the ruckus. His eyes zeroed in on Quatre’s legs sticking out from behind his desk. His chair was tipped over on its side. Papers were everywhere. Quatre had obviously tried to catch himself as he’d fallen. With a low curse, Heero rushed over. Quatre was laying on his back, eyes closed, clearly unconscious.

“Quatre,” he called out as he dropped to his knees next to his friend and checked his pulse. It was strong if a bit irregular. He was breathing, though, so at least CPR wasn’t needed.“Quatre?” He gently tapped the side of Quatre’s face, trying to wake him up. “Quatre! Quatre, wake up.”

Suddenly someone in white was beside him. He looked up as a paramedic knelt beside him, asking questions and getting to work. Heero got out of the way as Quatre’s assistant spouted off answers. Quatre was pale. Always thin, he suddenly looked frail to Heero. In the seventeen years they’d known each other, Quatre had never suddenly collapsed.

He watched as the paramedics put an oxygen mask over Quatre’s face, hooked him up to an IV, and put him on a stretcher. “I’m coming with you,” he told them as he followed alongside through the office and into the elevator.

“I’ll follow,” Quatre’s assistant called after him, holding a cell phone away from his ear. “I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

He stared at Quatre as they rode the elevator down. _What are you doing to yourself, Quatre_ , he asked silently.

***

Half an hour later, Heero and Quatre’s assistant were waiting outside Quatre’s hospital room in the emergency room. The doctor, along with a couple medical students were currently in there with him.

Heero leaned against the wall, arms crossed and brooding while Quatre’s assistant paced back and forth, constantly messing with his phone. Texting, calling, rearranging things, and fielding questions. Pretty much reorganizing his boss’ life while he was unconscious.

Over the course of the ride over in the ambulance and the twenty minutes waiting outside the room as the doctors pulled bloodwork and ran their tests, Heero had been replaying the events over in his head. Something wasn’t right. Quatre’s collapse had been surprising, certainly alarming. But something nagged at the back of his brain. Something didn’t feel right.

“What’s wrong with him?” Heero asked.

Quatre’s assistant stopped in his tracks, looking up from his phone. “What do you mean?”

Heero glared at him. Did the guy really think he was stupid? “That’s not the first time this has happened,” Heero accused.

Quatre’s assistant spread his hands in helplessness. “I’m not his doctor.”

“No, you just schedule his life. You’ve been with him for nine years. What happened up in that office wasn’t panic from watching your boss inexplicably collapse. That was procedure,” Heero shot back quietly. “So I’ll ask you again, what’s wrong with him?”

Quatre’s assistant opened his mouth, but before he could respond, the doctor and his entourage walked out. “He’s awake,” the doctor said.

“Exhaustion?” Quatre’s assistant asked.

“Marney’s asking?”

Quatre’s assistant nodded. “She’s on her way, but she’s already getting questions.”

The doctor sighed. “Tell her he has an acute case of anemia. He’s getting fluids. We’re running a range of tests just to be thorough, but he should be cleared to go home later today.”

Alarm bells went off in Heero’s head. That wasn’t normal. An emergency doctor knowing Quatre, Quatre’s assistant, and Quatre’s PR lady well enough to freely offer what sounded like a quote for attribution. _This has happened before_ , he thought. _And this isn’t the first time the media’s asked questions._

“We can go in?” Heero asked. The doctor nodded.

“Barring complications, he’ll be able to leave in a few hours.” Heero pushed himself away from the wall and walked into the room. Quatre’s assistant followed.

Sitting up in his hospital bed, Quatre looked contrite as they walked in. He was still pale, but it looked like his color was starting to come back and his eyes were clear and bright, a stark contrast to the ominous machines attached to the guy. An IV was sticking out of the top of his left hand. A heart monitor beeped behind him, clinical and sterile. His rhythm looked like it had normalized.

“You look better,” Heero said. “Compared to being unconscious anyway.”

“You really know how to flatter a guy,” Quatre quipped back, albeit weakly.

Heero pulled a chair up next to him, leaning his arms on his knees. “What’s wrong, Quatre?”

Quatre dropped his eyes to his hands in his lap, huffing a small, sad laugh. “You know everything, don’t you?” Heero didn’t respond. Just stared at his friend.

“Mr. Winner,” Quatre’s assistant ventured carefully. Quatre looked up, meeting his eyes.

“Marney’s coming?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let us have the room?”

Quatre’s assistant nodded and left, closing the door behind him. Quatre’s eyes dropped back down to his hands. “How’d you know?” he asked.

“Your staff,” Heero answered simply. “They were scared, but not panicked. This isn’t the first time this has happened, is it?” Quatre shook his head. When he didn’t elaborate, Heero pressed further. “Quatre, what…?”

“Meningioma,” Quatre interrupted quietly.

“What?” Heero asked in confusion. “What is that?”

“Brain tumor,” Quatre answered, refusing to look at Heero.

“Is it…?” he couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Cancer?” Quatre supplied, glancing up from under his long bangs. “Not typically, but...yes.”

“Cancer’s not that bad. Not anymore anyway.”

Most forms of cancer were treatable thanks to decades of medical advances turning it into a chronic illness. Rarely was cancer terminal these days.

“It’s terminal, Heero.”

Heero leaned back in his seat, staring at Quatre with surprise. The information was slow to sink in. After what felt like eons, Heero collected himself enough to consider the problem. The odds of any cancer being fatal had to be less than one percent. “How…” he started to ask.

Quatre shrugged. “I’m just lucky that way, I guess.”

Heero looked away for a moment before returning his gaze to his friend. Quatre was too calm. He’d already known about this. Had to have. He looked at him critically. “How long?”

“Hmm?” Quatre asked, not following.

“How long have you known?”

Quatre stared down at his hands again. “About the cancer being terminal? Two years.”

“Two years?” he asked in disbelief.

“Found out about the tumors three years ago.”

“Three?! Jesus, Quatre!”

Quatre continued to stare at his hands, refusing to face him. He slumped in his chair, putting a hand in front of his mouth. Partially in thought. Partially to keep himself from saying something he’d regret later.

“Why didn't you tell anybody? How the hell did you keep something like that a secret?” he asked. Quatre wasn’t exactly a good liar. Playing poker with him hadn’t ever really been fair to the guy.

“It’s not like we see each other all that much,” Quatre replied demurely. “Besides, I didn’t collapse that much in the beginning.”

“This happens often?”

“Not _that_ often.”

“Often enough for your staff to be prepared.” Heero couldn’t quite keep the accusatory bite out of his voice. Quatre looked away but said nothing. “Who all knows?”

“My doctors, obviously. My assistant, my sisters who handle company business, and core work staff. Father had a pretty strict no media policy when it came to us kids growing up, so everyone has already been well schooled in keeping the information away from the media.” The air hung heavily between them. The next question was obvious.

“How long?”

Quatre hesitantly looked up at Heero. “Nine months. Maybe less.”

The full weight of that answer descended upon him like a meteor crashing down on his head. “That’s why you were so adamant about everyone being at your birthday party last year?”

Quatre nodded. “I’m not likely to get another, but I didn’t want people to start acting weird that soon.”

He stared at Quatre thoughtfully as he processed everything. He was looking at one of his closest friends and in a year from now, he wouldn’t be here anymore. After years of being raised as a soldier, growing up around war and death, and finally finding stability and respite in the peace he’d helped create, he had never prepared himself to lose someone so close so soon.

“Quatre,” he said quietly. Quatre faced him, if somewhat bashfully. “You’re going to have to start telling people.”

Quatre’s big blue eyes were sad but resigned. They shone with unshed tears. “ I know,” he said softly.

Heero stood up slowly, then handed Quatre his phone. Quatre took it without a word. Heero put a hand on his shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze before leaving the room.

Quatre stared at the phone for a long while, working up the courage to do what he’d put off long enough. He sighed and dialed a number he knew by heart. It went to voicemail. Not surprising. It was still the middle of the day. Riyadh was only three hours ahead of L4 time. Everyone was likely to be in prayer right about now if they were even awake at all.

“Rashid,” he said to the recording. He stared at his blanket and picked at something invisible in the strands. “I know you’re probably asleep or in prayer, but…when you get this, I need you to set up a conference call with everyone.”

Quatre could hear his voice start to falter. He looked up at the ceiling, working hard not to break down over the phone. He’d known this would be difficult, whenever he got around to finally doing it. He’d put it off long enough. Too long probably.

“It’s important,” he continued. “And I don’t want to have to repeat myself. I’ll be around, so call when you can.”

He paused, debating on whether or not to say more before hanging up. With relief, he let out a long, shaky breath. _And that’s the easy part_ , he told himself. He’d have to do better at keeping himself together when Rashid called back and had everyone on the other end of the line. He’d need to put on a brave front. He’d known about his condition for years already. He’d had time to adjust. He needed to show them it would be okay.

One more time, he needed to lead his men.

A soft knock brought his attention back to the present. His doctor poked his head in before stepping fully into the room. “Mr. Winner…”

 

***

A light knock on the door woke him up with a start. The lights were off, but he could still see Heero’s form lounging in the chair next to his hospital bed. Heero shuffled around in his seat, untangling himself from what looked to be a blanket. One of the nurses must have brought one for him. Quatre pushed himself up into a sitting position as Heero turned on the lights and opened the door.

Rashid walked in. Tall, muscular, broad in the shoulder, and trim in the waist, Rashid had a strong, square jaw with a full, neatly trimmed beard that made him look like an upside-down version of Wolverine. Dressed in traditional harem-style pants, loose cotton shirt, and open vest, the big man was a modern representation of his traditional Lebanese heritage.

He hadn’t expected Rashid to show up in person. He was supposed to be in Riyadh, not in space.

Unless he was dreaming. Which was possible. The doctor had seen something he didn’t like in his bloodwork, so they’d kept him overnight. He didn’t know what time it was, but it felt early.

He should be telling all the Maguanacs in person, he had to admit that. But every one of his men had their own lives, their own families, to see to. Getting everyone together at the same time, in the same place, might be next to impossible and time, it seemed, had finally become a factor.

He couldn’t avoid it anymore. Couldn’t pretend he was just sick. Heero was right. He needed to start telling people. The Maguanacs had followed him through so much. They needed to be first.

A single, mass-conference phone call was, logistically, the best way to tell them all at once about his condition. As difficult as he expected that to be, he’d thought that he’d at least dodged the worst of it, albeit selfishly, by not having to address them all in person.

It seemed he wouldn’t be that lucky.

“Master Quatre.” Rashid’s voice was strained. He looked tired and distraught.

Definitely not a dream.

“Hey,” he replied meekly.

“Why wasn’t I informed immediately that you collapsed?” he asked.

Quatre withered. “I thought you were in Riyadh,” he answered lamely. Quatre’s assistant poked his head in from the hallway.

“I couldn’t stop him from coming in, sir,” he said apologetically. Quatre shook his head with a small smile.

“No one stops Rashid from doing anything.”

“Master Quatre, I was in Riyadh last week,” Rashid said. “I’m up here for the next two weeks. We talked about this just a few nights ago when I was waiting for my flight at that spaceport.”

Quatre frowned. He didn’t remember that at all. The last time he’d talked to Rashid was...several weeks ago, maybe? Was his memory really getting that bad? Sure, Bryan had to remind him of things more than he used to, but Rashid being up in the colonies was something he should remember.

“I’m getting coffee,” Heero said, glancing at his watch before leaving the room, taking the assistant with him.

“Bryan?” Quatre’s assistant stuck his head back into the room with Heero pausing to stare at him in the middle of the doorway. “I’ll need Albatross. As soon as you can get it.” Quatre’s assistant nodded and left, with Heero closing the door behind them.

Rashid set him with a suspicious look. “What is _Albatross_? Sounds like a codename in a spy novel.”

Quatre ignored the question. “How did you know I was here?” he asked, returning his attention to Rashid.

Rashid seemed to weight his options. Push the issue or let him steer the subject. Thankfully, he allowed the latter. “You called on Heero’s phone. I recognized the number,” Rashid said as he brought a chair next to his bed and sat down. “I called back and he answered. What happened?”

Quatre looked into the eyes of his long-time friend and confidante. His courage faltered. How could he tell this man he loved, who had become a second father to him, that he was going to have to watch him die? How could he possibly ask him to do what he needed him to?

Quatre looked away, unable to meet his friend’s gaze any longer.

“Master Quatre?” Rashid’s voice, strong and gentle, compelled him to look back up.

“You’re not going to like it.”

***

“What does that mean?” Abdul’s voice grated on his nerves. He massaged his head above his temple with his free hand. The nurse really needed to come back and give him another tramadol. His head was about to split in two and this conversation wasn’t getting any easier.

“Master Quatre?!” And there was Auda. Their voices stabbed his brain like ice picks.

“Keep your voices down. He can hear you.” Rashid’s voice came through the line like a low roll of thunder. The command was as effective as lightning. The line went quiet as the 39 former soldiers plus their financial backer, Commander Sada Ul, waited for what was about to come next.

He wasn’t sure what to say. In all the scenarios he’d run through in his head, he’d never been able to fully anticipate just how difficult it would be to form the words.

Over the last couple of hours, he’d explained himself to Rashid. It was seven in the morning and Rashid had been able to corral the others faster than he’d anticipated. He hadn’t had time to collect himself between telling Rashid and connecting with the other Maguanacs.

He was exhausted. His head hurt, making it difficult to think straight, and he had to once again find the courage to speak the painful truth.

Still in his hospital bed, he looked up from the blanket he’d been staring at. He met Rashid’s eyes with a resignation he also found in Rashid. “I’m dying,” he said quietly. Rashid’s eyes never left his. “I won’t be here in December.” That was certain. He wouldn’t live to see thirty-three.

Rashid slowly closed his eyes and bowed his head, unable to keep the tears from running down his face, even as he continued to hold his phone to his ear.

Quatre also looked back down. He couldn’t stand the sight of Rashid, a living pillar of stability in his life, looking so defeated. Guilt squeezed his insides, making it difficult to breathe.

Silence stretched on without a word from anyone. Quatre had no words of comfort to give them. No false promises. They’d been with him for almost twenty years. They’d know he was lying.

“You should come to my villa next month, if not sooner.” Commander Sada Ul told him. Reflexively, Quatre looked to Rashid who met his eyes again and nodded. His friend’s eyes were clear and focused, despite the dampness left by his tears.

It was doable. Everything to facilitate a smooth transition of power from himself to his sisters had been put in place over a year and a half ago. All he had to do was sign the papers.

He’d had plans to spend his final days at his family’s own desert mansion anyway and he wasn’t likely to be able to run the company much longer either. He saw no real downside to going down to Earth earlier than originally planned.

“Yeah, sure,” he said tiredly. Rashid must have picked up on it because he promptly guaranteed that they would make plans in the next few days to come down. It was a relief when Rashid ended the call.

Quatre automatically followed Rashid’s example and hung up Heero’s phone. It was like he’d forgotten what he’d been doing. His mind was fuzzy and he couldn’t focus. He stared blankly at the phone for he didn’t know how long. Time didn’t seem to exist anymore.

“Master Quatre?” Rashid’s voice filtered into his brain where it slowly processed. He looked up into the man’s face. Rashid was fixed on him, worry etched in the crease of his brow and the wideness of his intelligent eyes.

All of a sudden he snapped back. “Rashid,” he said, his voice soft, but clear.

“Yes, Master Quatre?”

“I know it’s not a fair ask,” he said before looking back down. He had to take a breath. It wasn’t fair. He was dying. Nothing about that reality would be easy under any circumstances, but Rashid had turned into a second father over the years and he needed him.

He fought back tears and took another shaky breath. What he was about to ask wasn’t fair. He looked back up into Rashid’s ever-patient face. “It’s selfish and unfair, but I…”

Rashid’s features softened. “I’ll be here.”

His heart nearly burst. How the man knew him. He owed everything to Rashid. The smile that flitted across his face was one of love and gratitude. He hoped Rashid knew just how much he loved him. He would have to make sure he did.

The door to his room opened, pulling both Quatre’s and Rashid’s attention and revealing Heero and the doctor. “Good news,” the doctor said, looking at his chart. “The bloodwork we were concerned about came back and I like what I see. There was a spike in your white blood cells,” he began to say.

“Infection?” Rashid asked.

The doctor looked at him. “We were afraid of that, so we took another draw yesterday and kept him overnight. Hence why he’s still here.”

“But he’s fine?”

“Aside from dying anyway,” Heero asked with dark sarcasm. Everyone looked at him.

Leaning against the wall in a corner, with his arms crossed, the guy didn’t seem to mind the unenthused glares he received from Rashid and the doctor. Quatre, on the other hand, couldn’t hide the weak smile that crossed his face and it was difficult, but he managed not to laugh. Which was good because laughing wouldn’t do his splitting head any favors.

The doctor looked back to Rashid and then Quatre. “Yes. Aside from the cancer, you’re fine. No infection. You’re free to go home. The discharge papers are at the nurse’s station.”

“I can fly?” Quatre asked.

The doctor nodded slowly. “I’d like to give you a broad spectrum vaccine and a B12 shot to boost your immune system if you were to fly, but yes. You are physically capable of flying. So long as you’re not the one actively doing the flying.”

“We’re looking at toward the end of the month,” Rashid said.

The doctor looked between them. “We can go ahead and set up an appointment to get those things done a day or two before you leave.”

“Cora’s birthday,” Quatre said, looking to Rashid.

“The twenty-ninth,” Heero added.

“We can leave on the twenty-sixth or seventh,” Rashid answered. “Visit Heero and Relena for the party and go to Sada Ul’s after.”

“I’ll have one of the nurses set you up with an appointment on the twenty-fourth,” the doctor said before turning around and leaving.

“Well, that’s that then,” Quatre said, reaching his hand out for his clothes. “Let’s get out of here.” Heero pushed himself away from the wall and handed him his things.

“I’ll go talk to the nurse,” Rashid said as he stood up and left the room.

Heero watched him critically as he got changed. He glanced up at him. “Expect me to do a trick?” he asked as he looked down at his shirt as he buttoned up.

“Just making sure you’re not going to pass out again.”

Touche.

“Fair enough,” he replied. He had to sit back down to put his shoes on.

“Seems like it didn’t go that badly.”

“You’re not inside my head.”

“Headache?”

“If wishing made it so.”

“Migraine?”

Quatre nodded, pressing fingers against his eyes. That didn’t help, so he opened them again and came face to face with Heero’s shirt. He looked up. Heero was holding out a small bottle of water and an orange pill bottle. “They refilled your prescription while you were asleep.”

“You’re a saint.” He snatched the bottle up and downed a pill. He heard Rashid outside talking to the nurse. He was tired of hospitals. He couldn’t wait to get out of here.

“Quatre,” Heero said as he stood up.“You know what you’re doing, right?”

Quatre looked up at him with annoyance. “Do you really think there’s a manual on how to die?” he snapped.

“I know you need to do things in the best way for you.”

He wasn’t quite sure what Heero was leading up to here. “But?”

“And I don’t want to tell you what to do, but…” Realization dawned on him. He knew what Heero was about to say.

“So don’t,” he said, cutting him off.

Heero’s expression turned from solemn acceptance to disagreement. “You need to tell him, Quatre.”

“I don’t _need_ to do anything,” he replied, moving toward the door, casually slipping his hands in his pockets.

“Quatre.”

He turned around. “I need you to stay out of this, Heero. You can’t tell him.”

Heero frowned, showing his displeasure. “He might be at the party, Quatre.”

“Might?” he asked as they walked out into the hall and made their way towards Rashid.

“He might,” Heero repeated, signaling him to hold up with a touch to the arm. Heero stuck his hands in his jacket pockets. Their eyes met, deep blue met his own aquamarine. Heero knew his past relationship with Trowa was a touchy subject.

They’d been together for years before eventually falling apart. It hadn’t been anyone’s fault, really. It just happened to be a casualty of two people who held demanding, time-consuming jobs.

They’d avoided each other for a while, letting the dust settle and giving wounds time to heal. Slowly, they’d walked back down the path of friendship. Aside from keeping his disease a secret, they were as close as they'd ever been. Together or not, they were soul mates. He truly believed that.

They both still cared about each other and Trowa had made it clear that he was willing to try again if he was. But he had been timid, gun shy, about becoming romantically involved a second time and Trowa hadn’t pressed the issue. And now...he didn't see much point in getting involved now.

The last thing he wanted to do was tell Trowa he was dying. Telling the Maguanacs, telling Rashid, had been hard enough. He couldn’t face Trowa. Not yet.

“Quatre, you need to tell him.”

“And I need you to stay out of it,” he repeated. They stared at each other, neither backing down.

“Mr. Winner!”

Everyone looked in the direction of the voice. It was Bryan. “Why is he running?” Heero asked.

“I have it,” the guy said as he slowed from a fast jog to a full stop in front of him. He put his hands on his knees as he bent over, gasping for breath.

“You need to work out more,” Quatre said with a smile, bending over, trying to meet Bryan’s eyes.

“Quatre,” Rashid scolded with a frown.

“What?” he asked, glancing up. “Coming from a dying person, that says something, doesn’t it?”

“That’s really not funny, Master Quatre.”

Bryan stood up, offering his boss a thick manila envelope. “It’s a little funny,” Heero interjected with a small smile of his own as Quatre took the thing and unraveled it. He pulled out a stack of papers, clipped together and marked with colored tabs.

“You got instructions from the nurse?” Quatre asked, glancing up at Rashid as he flipped through pages, signing his name as he went. His voice was strong, commanding. Dying or not, he was the boss.

“Yes.”

“Alright, then.” Quatre flipped through the pages one last time, making sure he didn’t miss anything. He slipped the papers back into the envelope and tied it back up before handing it back to Bryan. “Copy that and send the original back to Kal,” he said, referencing his lawyer. “Send a copy to both Rashid and Commander Sada Ul.”

“Of course,” Bryan said taking the papers. “Anything else, sir?”

“No. That's it for you and me,” he said. He extended his right hand. “You've done well by me all these years. Thanks for that.”

“It's been a privilege, Mr. Winner.” Bryan took his hand, his jaw working as he fought back tears of his own. “Take care of yourself, sir,” he said before reluctantly turning and walking away.

Heero and Rashid both stared at Quatre as he slipped his hands back into his pockets. “You’re in charge of me now,” he told Rashid before walking past them and toward the exit.


	2. 2

The breeze rolling off the sea was cool as it played with his hair. The smell of brine and salt mixed with the sweet aroma of sage and thyme that grew wild on the hillside behind him surrounded his senses and the aquamarine Aegean spread out in front of him.

The cool temperature mixed with the wind off the sea sent a chill down his spine. For once, he didn’t mind. Sitting on the sand dunes, in front of such pristine waters, watching as the waves rolled back and forth, was a pretty good way to pass the time in his book.

“You should really come visit in the summer when it’s warm enough to swim.”

Quatre looked to the right. From where he was sitting, legs tented, with his arms casually wrapped around his knees, he could see Relena walking towards him. Her sandy, pin-straight hair whipped around in the wind, huddling inside her white Prada jacket as she walked behind him and took a seat to his left.

“I might not be around that long,” he replied nonchalantly before looking back out across the water. “Though it would be nice to go swimming again. I can see why you live here.”

Relena stared at him with compassion and understanding in her blue-green eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he answered. “The anti-depressants help,” he added, half-twisting in her direction, a smile on his face. She smiled back, not seeming to mind his dark humor. “I’m more worried about everyone else.”

“You did spring it on us,” she agreed. Her voice was sad, regretful. Full of missed opportunities, lost futures, and the curse of too little time. Concern chased away her smile.

“I’m sorry about that,” he apologized. “I really am. I just couldn’t bring myself to say anything any sooner.”

“I know.”

Together, they both stared out across the water. The crystal clear aquamarine waters looked picturesque as they rolled up on the shore before chasing itself back to the body it came from.

“Heero was pissed,” Quatre said quietly.

“He still is.”

“Can’t say I don’t deserve it,” he said mildly. It really hadn’t been fair, finding out the way he did. He’d scared him pretty badly. Heero didn’t make friends easily. He might have the respect and admiration of those he worked with, but friends...Friends didn’t exactly come easy to Heero Yuy. Not giving him a heads up that he was even sick before passing out on him wasn’t exactly considerate.

“Quatre?” Quatre looked over at Relena. “Why did you wait so long?” she asked. She looked sad and pained. A shard of guilt dug into him. He’d done this to his friends. He was doing this to his friends. He owed them answers.

He looked back out to the water as he considered his words carefully. It was almost February. It might still be chilly, colder than he’d like, but the view was breathtaking. The world was beautiful, vibrant. He’d miss it.

“I don’t have any good excuses,” he said, looking back to her.

Her eyes were patient and filled with understanding. Over fifteen years ago they’d helped shape the world together. They were giants of their time. And none of them had honestly expected to live this long. Death was not a stranger. Even to Relena. There was a small measure of comfort in that.

“Honestly? Fear, probably.” He shrugged and looked away. “It didn’t seem like a big deal, that first year. I had a brain tumor. They aren’t typically harmful. Waiting and keeping an eye on it was par for course. But after they said I was terminal...”

He remembered the doctor walking in to the office. The solemn look on his face had been an instant giveaway. The guy had about as good a poker face as he did. “I was angry. I was sad. In denial…”

“Stages of grief.”

He nodded and met those kind eyes again. “Checked all the boxes,” he said with a little chuckle. “It was a rough year.”

“And you didn’t tell anybody? How could you go through that alone?”

“I didn’t,” he reassured her. “I’ve never stopped seeing Dr. Farlan. She did up my dose though once I needed it. I told my sisters. Bryan, my personal assistant.”

“But that was it?”

He looked down at his hands. “Yeah, pretty much. I seemed fine enough on the outside that it was still easy to pretend I wasn’t…” His voice broke off. He felt tears welling up at the corner of his eyes. He blinked them away. He looked once again to his long-time friend. She was full of grace and compassion. He was honored to have known her as well as he did.

“I’m dying,” he said with a bittersweet smile and a shrug. “I just can’t hide it anymore. It is what it is.”

Relena held out her hand to him and he took it. She squeezed, a silent affirmation of support. Her lips quirked up in a sad smile of her own and for a moment they stayed like that, sharing a quiet moment of companionship.

Something in the distance caught Relena’s attention. Quatre followed her gaze. Heero was strolling toward them, hands tucked casually in his jeans pockets. “The others are here,” he announced as he came up to them.

Relena looked back to Quatre and gave his hand one more squeeze before pushing herself to her feet. “Cora?” she asked.

“Rashid’s got her.” He replied as she went to his side.

“And Trowa?” Quatre asked hesitantly. Heero turned to him. The look on his face said what he didn’t voice aloud, that he needed to figure his shit out and stop avoiding the guy.

“He couldn’t make it.”

Quatre glanced down at his feet. A mixture of relief and disappointment fluttered through his stomach. With a sigh, he heaved himself to his feet and followed behind his friends as they walked, holding hands, up the beach back towards the house.

When they reached the rear patio that overlooked the Aegean surf and entered through the kitchen a little sable-haired torpedo launched itself at Heero’s knees, almost taking him out. Heero had to actually work to keep himself from falling over his daughter as she latched onto a leg, shrieking with laughter.

“Little Duo’s here, Daddy!”

“I know,” Heero answered, delicately trying to extricate himself from Cora’s little arms. “He’s here for your birthday.”

Right on cue, Duo Junior, came running into the room followed closely by Rashid who appeared to be attempting, and failing, to corral the hyper almost eight-year-old. “I tried to steer him into the yard,” the big man said apologetically.

“You’re getting slow in your old age,” Quatre teased. Rashid set him with a disapproving, if melancholy, expression. Quatre smiled with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. It was a light-hearted jab, even if it was ironic. He couldn’t reverse what was happening. Might as well have a little fun with it.

“He’s too slippery for anyone.”

Relena peered around Rashid’s large frame and smiled. “Hey!” she greeted with open arms as Duo and Hilde walked in. Hilde smiled and walked into Relena’s embrace. Duo and Heero shook hands and hugged, trading light hearted digs. Sally and Wufei joined them, appearing much more sedate than the Maxwells. Happy smiles and hugs were passed around to everyone along with warm greetings.

“Hey, Q-man,” Duo said as he pulled Quatre into a hug. “How are you, buddy?”

Quatre tucked his head into his best friend’s shoulder and held him tight for a long moment. “I love you, Duo,” he whispered.

“I love you too, buddy.” Duo replied. Quatre could feel him hesitate, heard the concern creep into Duo’s voice.

Duo let him go, holding him at arm’s length, one hand resting against the back of Quatre’s head. Duo looked into his eyes, pinning him down, looking for any sign of trouble. “You okay?” he asked.

Quatre looked into the dark, warm eyes of the man who he’d grown to love as a brother. Duo had always been there when he needed him, especially after he and Trowa had fallen apart. It had also been in large part to Duo that he and Trowa had been able to return to being friends.

“Aside from ‘okay’ being relative?” Quatre asked with a small smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just needed to tell you that.”

His answer seemed to put Duo at ease. He smiled. “Alright, man,” he said, playfully slapping each side of Quatre’s face. Quatre’s smile grew wider at Duo’s typical playfulness.

“If you weren’t straight and he wasn’t still hung up on Trowa,” Wufei teased behind them.

“Hey, guys,” Quatre greeted as Duo whipped around, draping his arm around his neck.

“Damn, right!” Duo announced with a devilish grin. He looked over his shoulder at Hilde, who was still standing next to Heero and Relena. “You might have some competition, Honey.”

She smiled. “Apparently I’m chopped liver,” she said, glancing over at Relena. The two women were trying not to laugh. Even Heero was smiling over Duo’s antics.

“No offense,” Quatre said, looking up at Duo. “But you’re not my type.” A round of laughter erupted from everyone. “You, on the other hand,” he said, looking at Wufei. The laughter in the room got louder and Duo had to turn away, clutching his stomach because he was laughing so hard.

“Come here,” Wufei said with a smile. Quatre walked into his friend’s open arms. They hugged and clapped each other on the back. “You look a little thin,” Wufei observed quietly as they broke apart.

“I’m as good as can be expected,” he replied.

Heero twisted in place, trying to keep an eye on both kids. “Everyone to the family room,” he announced. “Who wants cake?”

A duet of high-pitched “me’s” filled the room. Everyone made their way into the other, larger room, following behind the rambunctious children. Duo hooked an arm around Quatre’s neck, pulling him in close and pressing their heads together, proceeding to regale him with a story on what a smart ass his son was already.

Quatre smiled as they walked in the middle of their friends and family. He loved them all and very little would make this memory better.

***  
“How long?” Sally asked, evenly.

It was late evening. The children were fast asleep, leaving the adults to catch up without interruption. Everyone had gathered in the lounge for coffee, tea, or wine, depending on preference.

Quatre sat in a plush chair next to a crackling fire. He’d just told them the news. He looked at her as he leaned his elbows on his knees. “Eight months, maybe less,” he said.

Alarmed curses punctuated the soft gasps that filled the room. He tried to keep his expression neutral as the guilt of hiding his condition for so long settled over him once again. Duo looked positively shell-shocked. His mouth hung slightly open and stared at him with a glazed look in his eyes.

“What will happen?” Hilde asked softly, fighting back tears.

Quatre took a deep breath. Nothing like going over how bad it would get. “The migraine and overall pain will get worse, but there’s strong painkillers for that,” he answered. “So will my short term memory. We’re looking at the possibility of stroke, blindness, and seizures.”

“Seriously?” Hilde asked, blanching.

“It’s not guaranteed that I’ll experience all of those, but they are some of the highlights.”

“How bad will it get?” Wufei asked.

Quatre opened his hands in helplessness. “Might be bad,” he answered. “Might not. It’s honestly hard to tell. Some form of seizure is almost certain.”

“They’re not all grand mal seizures,” Sally interjected. Quatre nodded.

“Something as small as staring off into space might be caused by a seizure.”

“Isn’t that scary?” Hilde asked, eyes wide in fear.

Quatre smiled weakly. “More for everyone else. Not so much for me.”

“Odds?” Wufei asked.

“Odds?” Quatre shrugged. “Six to one of having a stroke. Four to eleven of having a brain herniation. Again, seizures of some sort are almost guaranteed.” He looked around the room, meeting everyone’s faces, aside from Rashid who had already been fully caught up. “Based on my history though, the most likely scenario is that I’ll succumb to some form of brain death due to mass pressure from the tumors.”

Everyone stared at him for a long moment in silence. Quatre could see them thinking, processing. Their faces ranged from Rashid’s solemn resignation to Duo’s utter shock and disbelief.

“Quatre, I swear to God if you’re joking…” Duo accused crossly. His voice trembled, a mixture of rage and fear. Its force nearly knocked Quatre backwards. Quatre looked at his friend with a hurt expression. He’d expected angry denial from Duo. It was hard to believe someone that you loved would die soon, especially when they were so young. He couldn’t blame Duo, but it still hurt.

Heero set Duo with a stern look and spoke before Quatre had the chance to open his mouth. “He collapsed in his office when I was there.”

Duo looked from Quatre to Heero and back again. “You collapsed?” he asked, sitting back, his eyes big and round with shock.

Quatre smiled meekly. “Yeah. It’s how Heero and Rashid found out. Scared them more than a little, unfortunately.”

“This isn’t new,” Sally said. Quatre turned his attention to her. Her eyes bored into him like a hawk. Quatre shook his head solemnly.

“No.”

Duo’s expression morphed from surprise straight back into pissed off. “How long have you known?”

Quatre looked away, catching the fire out of the corner of his eye. Someone was bound to ask that question eventually. “Two years about the terminal diagnosis. Another year before that knowing the tumors were there, but the doctors wanted to watch and wait to see what they did. They usually don’t do anything.”

Duo jumped out of his seat. “Jesus Christ, Quatre!”

Quatre winced. At the same time, Heero, Relena, and Hilde shushed him. “Don’t wake the kids,” Relena hissed.

Duo rubbed a hand over his face in frustration before turning back around in a huff. “Before Heero dropping in unexpectedly outed you, were you even going to tell us?”

Quatre looked up at him, appearing adequately chagrined. “Of course,” he said quietly.

“When?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“Fucking A, Quatre!”

“Duo!” Hilde scolded, her voice hushed, but full of maternal force. “Seriously, you’re going to wake them up!”

“Duo,” Rashid added with a frown. He didn’t like Duo starting an argument or taking a tone with his master who had the misfortune of being the one dying.

Duo put both hands on his hips and squared off against Rashid. “Are you really telling me you weren’t pissed?”

Rashid rose to his feet, towering over Duo. When he spoke his voice was low, rolling out from his belly like a cautionary growl. “My reaction to Master Quatre’s news is not relevant and I would remind you, friend or not, to keep your tone respectful.”

Quatre held out his hand, trying to pat the air in a calming motion. “Guys, this isn’t…” He started to say, but Duo threw his hands in the air and stormed out of the room, shaking off Hilde’s arm as she reached for him while he walked past.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Heero said quietly, rising from his chair and following Duo out.

After the awkwardness of Duo’s exit dissipated a bit, Wufei returned his attention to Quatre. “Tell me you expected that?” Wufei asked.

***  
Quatre walked along the beach, hands in his jacket pockets. The wind wasn’t as strong as yesterday, making the sea waters placid, a smooth blue gem under a clear blue sky to admire.

Duo stood near the water, staring out across its magnificence. As he approached his friend, Quatre watched Duo stare at the water, resolute and statuesque. Quatre’s heart felt like it would crumple in on itself. The others had asked more questions after Duo had stormed out of the room and Heero had gone after him to put out the fire.

Neither of them came back inside, or at least not back into the lounge, before he and Rashid had called an end to the night for them both. His friends had stayed up longer, even after he and Rashid had gone to bed, discussing the news he’d just told them.

Knowing Duo was so mad at him, he hadn’t slept well.

“You really can be a dick. You know that?” Duo asked, continuing to stare at the water as he came up beside him.

Quatre smiled and huffed a little laugh. “Yeah, I know,” he said quietly. Duo twisted in place to look at him. The wounded look on his face sent a punch to his gut. He needed to know. They all did, but doing so was causing pain to his friends and that was hard to see. “I’m sorry, Duo. I really am. You didn’t deserve to get blindsided.”

Duo shrugged, a motion of helplessness. “Two years, man,” he said in angry disbelief. “You had _two years_.”

“I know.”

“And now you have eight months.”

“I know.”

Duo looked back out across the sea and huffed a mirthless laugh. He shook his head and smiled a humorless smile. “I’m so fucking pissed at you right now,” he said quietly.

Quatre glanced down at his feet. “You and Heero can make a club,” he said and looked back to his old friend. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty more members.”

Duo’s laugh was genuine then and a small smile broke across Quatre’s face. “You know you done fucked up when Heero’s mad at you.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, self-consciously looking back down at his feet and tapping the toe of one shoe with the heel of the other. He looked back up to Duo bashfully.

Duo took a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh. “Shit, Quatre.”

“That about sums it up, honestly.”

Duo looked back over to him with concern. “Have you told…” he asked. Quatre shook his head and dropped his eyes to the ground. “Quatre.” Duo’s voice was pitying. Quatre resented it. He shrugged.

“What do you want me to do, Duo? He asked, looking up at his friend. “It was hard enough to tell you guys. And anyway, he was supposed to be here.”

“He still loves you.”

Quatre looked away, turning his head to stare, unseeing, back toward Heero and Relena’s house. It was an open secret that he and Trowa still harbored strong feelings for each other. Trowa had asked him out a few years ago, willing to give their relationship a second chance. But in his fear, he’d turned him down and while Trowa hadn’t pressed the subject, he hadn’t hid his intentions either.

He’d honestly considered taking him up on the offer too, but that had been before his diagnosis. Once the doctors told him he was terminal, he’d thrown away the notion that he and Trowa could try again. With such little time left, he wasn’t sure it was fair of him to start something he knew he couldn’t finish.

“After all these years, Quatre,” Duo pressed.”Neither of you have ever wanted anyone else. He still…”

Quatre whipped his head around to look at Duo, his expression angry. He cut Duo off with vehemence. “It would be easier if he didn’t!”

Silence descended between them as they stared at each other. Despite the furious expression leveled at his friend, Duo didn’t flinch. They’d known each other too long to be intimidated by the other. Duo knew him too well. Instead of anger, he saw fear, loss, and regret.

Everyone in their circle of friends had been disappointed when Quatre had balked at Trowa’s plea for a second chance. No one had quite understood why Quatre had continued to ignore Trowa’s overt gestures of affection.

Now it made more sense.

Duo dropped the subject and turned his eyes back to the water. “You have a plan?”

“Rashid’s in charge of me.”

“Imagine my surprise.”

Duo glanced at him with a small smile. Quatre offered one of his own. He took a deep breath. “We’re going to Commander Sada Ul’s villa outside Riyadh. It’s just a short helicopter ride to King Faisal Hospital. If I need to be treated for anything, they’re going to have the best doctors, so…”

“Is that where you intended to…?” He couldn’t finish the sentence. Quatre offered him a weak smile for comfort.

“We were going to go to my family’s mansion after we visited the Commander, but he and Rashid talked me out of that idea.”

“Good.”

Quatre looked at Duo quizzically.

“Your family’s place is in the middle of nowhere.”

Quatre laughed. “I suppose.”

“So you’ll spend…” Duo’s voice caught as a wave of emotion washed over him like a wave washes over a beach. He took a moment and cleared his voice before continuing. “You’ll spend your last days there, then?”

Quatre watched him in empathy. “Yeah,” he replied. “The place is really something, Duo. You should visit. It’s a miniature palace with enough guest rooms to open a hotel…” Quatre paused and shrugged. “Or maybe a really expensive bed and breakfast.”

Duo tried not to laugh, but failed, taking Quatre with him. It was cathartic and it was a long time before they were able to stop laughing as they wiped the tears from their eyes.

“You have contingencies?” Duo asked, once again turning solemn.

Quatre nodded. He looked out over the water. “I have a standing DNR and I don’t want to be intubated for anything.” He looked back down to his feet. “If it gets that far…”

He looked up to Duo, his best friend for almost twenty years. “They intubate, odds are I won’t come off it.” He shook his head slightly. “I don’t want that. I don’t want machines keeping me alive just to prolong the inevitable. There’s no dignity in that.”

He could see tears welling up in the corners of Duo’s eyes and this time it wasn’t from laughing. He could feel his own doing the same. They looked at each other, sharing the pain of impending loss.

“There’s nothing else that can be done?” Duo asked. Quatre shook his head.

“I’m all for exploring all options, but...As of now, I appear to be out of them.”

“There’s that new stem cell thing.”

Quatre smiled sadly. Duo sounded the same way he had a little over a year ago. “We tried. I’m on a waiting list, but they aren’t ready for human trials yet.”

The hope that had krept into Duo’s eyes was extinguished and his face fell. Quatre offered him another smile. “We all die sometime, Duo.”

“Yeah, but…”

Quatre continued to smile and shook his head. “Operation Meteor was a suicide mission. Both versions,” Quatre said. “None of us expected to live this long.”

“Yeah, but…” Duo tried to interject. Quatre shook his head again and Duo closed his mouth.

“Makes us living on borrowed time, doesn’t it?” Quatre asked gently.

“I guess,” Duo answered, looking at him with a plaintive expression. “But we are still here. We’re young. We’re having kids. We expect to be around for a while.”

Quatre spread his arms out from his sides, even as they stayed in his jacket pockets, and shrugged. “I wish I had something better to say to you. Some sage advice that I’ve gleaned, but I don’t have any.”

He looked into Duo’s deep eyes. It hurt, knowing he was about to abandon him and the others. They had been through so much together already. Now he had to face one last fight with them by his side. It was one he was bound to lose, but then, they were all used to that.

“Duo, you’re my best friend,” he told him. “You are my brother if ever I had one.”

Duo reached out and pulled Quatre into a hug and held him tight. Quatre wrapped his arms around Duo and tucked his head into his shoulder like he’d done the day before. He couldn’t stop the tears as they fell down his face. “I’ll be okay,” he promised, sounding stronger than he felt. “I just need you guys to take care of each other.”

Duo backed up, holding Quatre at arms length. Quatre could see tear stains on Duo’s own cheeks. “I love you, kid.”

Quatre’s smile was bittersweet as Duo let him go. “I love you too, Duo.”

“Just don’t expect me to kiss you.”

They both choked on laughter. Quatre smiled with a light heart. “I told you yesterday,” he reminded him. “You’re not my type.”

“Remember when Trowa grew that facial hair for a while?” Duo asked, motioning a mustache with his hand.

“Yeah,” Quatre replied hesitantly. He wasn’t sure what Duo was getting at.

“They say guys look to date their fathers.” Quatre scrunched his face in annoyed humor and whacked Duo on the arm.

“That’s not funny,” he chastised. “There’s a reason he got rid of it.”

Duo snickered as Quatre’s hand hit him without force. “Yeah, well…” They both slowly turned their attention to the water, enjoying its beauty. “You really need to tell him.”

“I know,” Quatre agreed quietly. “And I will.” Quatre could feel Duo’s eyes on him. He turned to his friend. “I will. I promise.”

“Master Quatre!”

The two friends turned toward the booming voice of Rashid. Quatre’s keeper was standing on the beach, just off the patio. “That car’s ready!”

Quatre looked back to Duo. “I have to go,” he said regretfully. “Rashid made a doctor’s appointment at the hospital. A status check to get caught up with my history.”

Duo motioned with his chin. “You better go then.”

Quatre turned to go, but quickly stopped and turned back to face Duo. “You should really visit, if you want.”

Duo nodded. “Give us some time to organize things. We’ll come visit.” Duo walked toward him and pulled him into another hug, holding him tight before pushing him away playfully. “Go on,” he said and waved him off. “Get out of here.”

Quatre smiled, turned away from his best friend, and walked toward Rashid who was waiting for him.


	3. Chapter 3

Tall, white iron gates that formed a lotus flower opened, allowing the silver sedan to enter the personal mansion of Commander Sada Ul, sheikh of the oldest living Muslim family, driving force behind the Free Peoples of the Middle East opposition movement against the Earth Sphere Unified Alliance, and financial backer of the elite Middle Eastern mobile suit unit, the Maquanac Corp.

Lush grass surrounding a long, rectangular reflection pool almost made one forget that there was desert beyond the gates the car had just passed through. The cream colored paved driveway arced like the outline of an upside-down teardrop with the widest end leading up to and running under a porte-cochere, the tapered end acting as both entrance and exit.

The silver sedan slowly rolled to a stop in front of the grand entrance of the Commander’s mansion. The building was an architectural masterpiece designed by one of the best Middle Eastern architects in history.

The entrance was an expansive open air affair, protected from the elements by a two layered pyramid of flared arches, typical of Middle Eastern design, and decorated with elegant latticework. Terraces and balconies lined the length of the mansion, spreading out from either side. Multi-level areas of the roof hinted at extravagant rooms inside, set under vaulted ceilings and domes of exquisite stained glass.

Trowa exited the back seat of the sedan, looking up at the impressive display of wealth and power in front of him from behind a pair of aviator sunglasses and thinking that Quatre’s appraisal of the place was right on the money, so to speak, when he’d told Duo the place was a palace.

The five Gundam pilots had visited the Commander’s villa outside of Jeddah, on the Arabian coast, several years ago before embarking on a week-long sailing trip. That mansion had been large as well, though not as large as this. The house, though ostentatious in its own right, was warm, welcoming, and familial. The pet love of an old man and a respite from the rest of the world.

This? This was power. Power and extravagance. This was were business was conducted. This was a place designed to wine and dine dignitaries from around the world and the colonies.

It was grand, certainly. It also looked like a museum.

Ahmad, one of the Maguanac Corp’s sub commanders opened the trunk and pulled out his suitcases, gently placing them on the ground. “I’ll take these to your room,” he told Trowa.

Trowa turned around to face him. “Are you sure? I can get them.”

“We get bored enough. We look for things to do,” Ahmad replied, smiling behind his bushy mustache. “Besides,” he added, indicating the mansion with a jerk of his head. “You have more important things to do.”

Trowa smiled in appreciation. The Maguanacs, all forty of them, acted like fussy mothers to Quatre, Rashid, naturally, being chief among them.

In true Middle Eastern fashion, they had been gracious hosts to him when Quatre had brought him to their base after their first encounter on the battlefield. None of them had batted an eye or spoke ill of his relationship with Quatre once it became romantic nor had they acted without respect when they had broken up. A few of them had even argued his case to their master after Quatre had turned him down for another chance to make their relationship work.

It had been Rashid, in the end, who had called him last week, telling him about Quatre’s condition. That he had seven months to live. Less, if he started to deteriorate quickly.

Rashid had caught him on his lunch break. He’d devolved into a weeping mess after Rashid had ended the call. His work partner, Kerry, had to drive him home and sit with him for hours. After he’d returned to coherency, he’d been able to get a hold of both Heero and Duo, who had been able to answer questions and fill in some more gaps.

He’d called Rashid the next day, making plans to visit and spent the next few days after that filling out Preventer paperwork for a leave of absence. No one had questioned him when he’d told them he’d be gone for almost a year.

Ahmad had been kind enough to pick him up from the airport. The Maguanac had given him an update on Quatre’s condition and what he’d been up to lately. He’d also informed him that a few of Quatre’s sisters were milling about the place. Most notably, Jeyda, one of the younger, more rambunctious, Winner women.

“Shukran, Ahmad.”

Ahmad nodded and turned to another Middle Eastern man that had showed up and started talking to him in more Arabic than Trowa knew, apparently giving the man orders.

Trowa turned back toward the tall, latticed double doors with opaque glass. He’d only made it halfway across the landing before the doors opened inward, revealing a retainer standing beside each door, with towering Rashid and slender Jeyda beside him.

He took his sunglasses off as he walked into the foyer. “Ahlan,” he greeted Rashid. He held out his hand, which Rashid shook before pulling him into a friendly embrace. At six foot three, Trowa wasn’t short by any means, but still, Rashid towered over him, making the hug Trowa found himself in a tad bit awkward. He felt like he was sixteen again.

“Ahlan wa sahlan,” Rashid welcomed him as he left him go. “It’s good you made it.”

“Hey, Trowa,” Jeyda said, taking her turn giving Trowa a hug. Shorter than Quatre, she had to stretch to wrap her arms around his neck.

Trowa gave her a familial squeeze. Other than Iria, who was the oldest of Quatre’s sisters, Jeyda was the sister Trowa was most familiar with.

She and Quatre had been close throughout their childhood and she visited him often, usually en route to some adventure or other. Poised when she needed to be, as a woman of her status was expected to, she was lively and fun when in an informal setting. Trowa had always enjoyed her company.

“You guys okay?” Trowa asked.

“Yeah, we’re okay,” Jeyda replied as she let him go.

“You should go see him,” Rashid said. Trowa straightened up and half-turned to the big man.

“Where…” He didn’t even have to finish the question before Rashid answered.

“Go straight in until you step down into a large rectangular center area underneath skylights. There will be pillars lining the perimeter. Turn right, you’ll eventually find an indoor garden. He’s somewhere in there.” Trowa nodded and started off in the direction Rashid had indicated. Jeyda gave him a sympathetic smile as he left.

Damn,” Jeyda breathed appreciatively once Trowa was out of earshot, tilting her head to the side as he walked away, admiring the view.

Rashid looked down at her and frowned. “Jeyda,” he scolded. “That isn’t proper.”

“What?” she asked defensively, looking up to Rashid and crossing her arms. “A girl can look. Man’s gorgeous. Quatre has fine taste in men.”

Rashid didn’t look convinced.

Jeyda turned her gaze back to Trowa’s receding form. “Think it was a good idea? Not waiting for Quatre to call him? Bringing him here?”

“I’m not sure,” Rashid admitted, also watching Trowa disappear down a side wing of the mansion. “I guess we’ll find out.”

“He’s going to be mad at you.”

“Perhaps,” Rashid agreed. “Sometimes Master Quatre needs a little push.”

Jeyda shrugged with one shoulder. “Or a slap across the face.”

A grin started to make its way on Rashid's face, though he remained silent. “Neither of you are going to live that one down,” Jeyda said playfully, smiling and patting his arm as she turned around and started walking away. “I'll be by the pool if anyone needs me.”

 

***

Quatre sat, cross legged, on a white and pink persian rug as he painted. Blues, greens, white, and gold. A little brown thrown in. They all came together to form an almost complete peacock, strutting about in a lush desert courtyard.

He had painted the object of his art outside despite the fact that he and his feathered muse were indoors, surrounded by alabaster tile. Patterns of blue, green, and gold coincidentally mirrored those of his subject. The high white walls, filled with arching windows, towered over him like sentinels. Waves of ivy cascaded from the upper levels like fresh green tapestries.

The peacock that acted as his current model was currently milling along a pathway between two long sections of flora. Plenty of sunlight filtered down from the glass ceiling, bathing the area in warmth and a fountain gurgled in the background.

Quatre looked up from his brush stroke to find his peacock was gone. “Well that’s not helpful,” he said out loud. Tilting to the side from his position, trying to look around the side of his canvas. Still no peacock.

He returned to his original position, staring blankly at his canvas. He’d just started the intricate featherwork of the tail. He still needed that bird.

Quatre tilted the other way, peering out from the left side of his canvas, and saw the brightly colored bird’s signature tail feathers walking away.

With a sigh, Quatre set his paint and brush to the side. With some effort he pushed himself to his bare feet and went to follow his less than cooperative model. “You better come back here,” he warned.

***

Trowa walked down the long hall, hands in his pockets, taking in the exquisite architecture and expensive interior decorating as he went. Some of the rich, carved wooden doors and archways led to other rooms or passages, which were themselves sometimes so shadowed that Trowa could imagine an intruder sneaking along them without fear of getting caught. God knew there was enough foliage. There was so much green in the place, it almost felt like a rainforest rather than a desert home.

At the end of the hall he could see another archway. It looked much older than the rest of the place, filled with green on the inside. He thought he could hear the sound of water trickling in the distance.

 _That must be it_ , Trowa thought to himself.

He was almost to the archway when Quatre walked into view. He looked thin. Thinner than he should. His clothes didn’t help either. Sleeveless, pale aqua blue shirt; a bashful pink scarf, probably silk; and tan pants that looked like they were made with a thin, lightweight fabric. It had been a long time since Trowa had seen him so dressed down, and damn, did it make him look thin. Almost sickly so.

The sight of him stopped Trowa in his tracks. He was frozen. Unable to move. Unable to say the name he’d wanted to call out since they’d fallen apart all those years ago.

Quatre looked for a moment as if he’d walk right on by, without even noticing Trowa standing there. He seemed oblivious to his presence.

And then his steps faltered, slowing down as if he’d gotten distracted from his intended target. He stopped.

Standing in the middle of the archway, Quatre turned his head in Trowa’s direction. The expression on his face was one of disbelief, as if he might be wondering if he was dreaming or hallucinating.

“Trowa?” Quatre asked softly. His voice was breathless, barely audible. Trowa wasn’t entirely sure he even heard him say his name, but Quatre’s lips moved.

Like it always had, Quatre saying his name acted like a summons. One he was more than willing to obey.

His feet moved of their own accord, bringing him closer to his former lover with every step until he was standing right in front of him. Quatre looked up into Trowa’s face, reminding him of just how much difference five inches could make. Quatre’s mouth pulled into a pleasantly surprised smile. An emotion he felt was mirrored in his own expression.

It felt like an eternity before either one of them was able to speak. “Why didn’t you call me?” he asked through the lump in his throat. Not exactly the first thing he’d wanted to say, but too late now. “Rashid had to.”

“I can see that,” Quatre replied with an amused tilt to his head. His voice was still soft, but firm and confident. “I honestly wasn’t sure I was ever going to be able to do it.”

Trowa’s heart wanted to curl into itself. Quatre was dying and the idea of breaking the news was so difficult, Quatre hadn’t been able to summon the courage to do it made Trowa wither on the inside. It was sweet… In a melancholy way.

“He knows you too well.”

“He does,” Quatre agreed. That delighted smile lit up his face and Trowa was struck by how beautiful Quatre was. It faltered almost immediately, replaced by a slight downward turn of his lips. Quatre looked into Trowa’s eyes, searchingly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I tried. Picked up the phone so many times…”

Trowa could see tears begin to moisten Quatre’s baby doll eyes. “Hey,” he said soothingly, stepping closer. He framed Quatre’s face in his hands and wiped away the tears that hadn’t yet fallen. “You don’t have to be.”

Quatre stepped into him, pressing their bodies against each other. Trowa leaned down, gently taking Quatre’s mouth with his. Quatre’s lips parted willingly, without persuasion, and together they retreated back into the recesses of Commander Sada Ul’s garden.

***

The sound of crystal blue water trickling in a fountain somewhere filtered into Trowa’s consciousness. Something warm shifted against him. Gradually, he realized that a pair of legs were entwined with his, an arm draped over his waist, and a silky soft shock of hair pressed against his chest.

Trowa opened his eyes and looked down. Quatre was curled against him, eyes closed, seemingly fast asleep. A small smile pulled at Trowa’s lips and for a moment nothing mattered. Life stood still. Quatre was in his arms again. In this moment, the world was exactly as it should be.

Carefully, so as not to wake Quatre, Trowa half-turned onto his back, taking in his surroundings.

Everything was lush and green. Multihued flowers bloomed everywhere, some even dangled in rivulets from above, entwined with the ivy. The whole place smelled fresh, like a secret garden after a spring rain. Sunlight shone gently through the multi-faceted glass dome above them.

They were in paradise.

Quatre shifted against him. Trowa looked down and found himself staring straight into Quatre’s big, round eyes. He didn’t have to see the smile on Quatre’s face to feel it.

“Hey,” Quatre offered with a hint of shyness.

“Hey,” Trowa replied with a smile. He leaned back, looking above his head. Nearby, Quatre’s unfinished canvas and painting supplies sat abandoned. Trowa vaguely remembered them getting pushed out of the way as he and Quatre had laid down on the rug and made love beneath a large, handmade blanket. “Nice painting.”

Trowa felt Quatre’s breath against his skin as he laughed. The sensation caused a sweet shiver to run down his back. “Thanks,” Quatre said. “It’s obviously not finished. The peacock disappeared.”

“Bastard.”

Again, Quatre laughed. The sound was light and airy. Perfectly carefree. “I know, right.” Quatre gently pressed his lips against Trowa’s chest, trailing soft kisses across his skin. “I did Danny Dog too.”

Trowa ran a hand absently through Quatre’s hair. “I miss Danny Dog,” he lamented to no one in particular.

“I know,” Quatre said sadly. “He was a good dog.”

Trowa looked back down at Quatre who tipped his heart shaped face up to meet his eyes. “I’m still shocked you never got another dog.”

Quatre shrugged. “After Dr. Farlan finally got rid of the PTSD, I didn’t need a service animal. So when Danny died…” His voice trailed off. “Anyway, I was so busy. Hardly ever home. Wouldn’t have been fair.”

Trowa leaned down and lovingly placed a kiss on the bridge of Quatre’s nose. Quatre squeezed his eyes shut and smiled, which crinkled his nose. “Still have that cat?” Quatre asked when Trowa straightened back up.

“Yes. I still don’t know why you and that cat don’t get along.” Trowa said mildly with a grin.

Quatre was referring to Kyga, his big fluffy black Maine Coon. He’d adopted the thing from a shelter years ago, after he and Quatre had split. Whenever Quatre had stopped by for a visit the cat would growl and hiss at his ex. Quatre loved animals and for one to act so hostile towards him was rare. Where Quatre had been miffed and a little upset at Kyga’s contempt for him, Trowa had found it more than a little amusing.

“Your cat’s an asshole. That’s why.” Trowa laughed. Quatre wasn’t wrong. Kyga didn’t like anybody.

Trowa stared down at Quatre, complete adoration in his eyes. Quatre was smiling up at him. Being together like this felt right, felt as natural as breathing. Trowa could feel himself grinning like an idiot, but he didn’t care. They were together again.

“You should marry me.”

Quatre’s eyes grew wider in surprise. “Say what?”

Trowa’s grin turned into an outright smile that reached his ears. “Marry me.”

A heavy pause descended upon them like the blanket they currently laid under. It was broken by Quatre’s sudden laughter. Quatre laughed so hard, he thought his stomach was going to burst. He looked down, pressing his forehead against Trowa’s chest as he laughed, wrapping an arm around his protesting stomach muscles, tears streaming down his face.

When Trowa didn’t join in, he looked back up. Trowa’s smile was gone, replaced by the beginnings of a frown. That look on his face halted Quatre’s laughter immediately. “Shit, you’re serious,” he said in disbelief, putting a hand in front of his mouth.

“Yeah, I am,” Trowa said softly.

Quatre slowly retracted his hand from his mouth and propped his head up with the other, staring at Trowa contemplatively. “We’re a little past that party, aren’t we?”

Trowa shrugged. “Does it really matter?” he asked. “I love you.”

A small smile graced Quatre’s lips, though it turned sad shortly after. “I love you too, but Trowa…” Trowa remained silent as Quatre’s voice wavered, causing him to pause and take a steadying breath. “I don’t have much time,” he said quietly.

Trowa caressed Quatre’s cheek with his hand. Heero, Duo, and even Rashid had all said how fine Quatre was doing mentally. That Quatre had accepted what was happening. He felt at peace, they’d said.

What he saw in Quatre’s eyes was different. There was fear in those dark blue-green eyes of his. Along with fear and regret. He wished he could erase those emotions. If only love and willpower could keep him on this earth longer. If they could stay together.

“Then we should make it count,” he replied. A smile graced Quatre’s lips even as a tear ran down his cheek. Trowa gently wiped it away.

“I dunno,” Quatre responded dubiously. “Do you really think saying ‘Sorry, you’re dying, so why not?’ is really your best strategy here?”

Trowa looked down at him, his own eyes growing bigger in disbelief. Seriously? He had to be messing with him. “Are you really going to make me convince you?”

Quatre’s smile widened as a devilish twinkle came into his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “I am. After all these years, you can do better than that.”

Trowa frowned, which just made Quatre smile even more, if that was even possible. Guy looked like he was thoroughly enjoying this. _Bastard._ Fine. If Quatre wanted to throw that at him.

“Rashid said you’ve been terminal for two years.”

That hit home. Quatre looked contrite as he dropped his gaze to Trowa’s chest, unable to meet his eyes. “Yeah,” Quatre admitted quietly.

“And another year before that just knowing the tumors were even there.”

“Yeah.”

“I asked you for another chance four years ago.”

Quatre’s eyes glazed over, staring at nothing as he absently traced the line’s of Trowa’s muscles with his fingers. “I was scared.”

Quatre’s words sounded like a jumbled mess as he spoke into his skin. Trowa tipped his head close to Quatre’s. “I can’t hear you when you do that,” he told him. He curled a finger under Quatre’s chin, forcing him to look at him.

“I was scared,” Quatre admitted. “Love alone doesn’t make things work. We know that. We’d already failed multiple times.” Another tear fell from Quatre’s eye.

“And then you found out?” Trowa finished. Quatre pulled his chin away from Trowa’s hand and nodded.

Quatre shrugged in defeat. “And then it was like ‘What’s the point?’.”

“I love you, Quatre,” Trowa told him. “That’s the point.”

“I know,” Quatre replied. “And I love you too, but...I’m not going to be able to be there for you.”

“And you think hiding it and pretending nothing’s wrong is the answer?” Trowa countered. His voice sounded harsher than he’d intended it to be, even to his own ears.

Quatre blushed in embarrassment. He turned his head away and laid it down on Trowa’s chest. “I wanted to go through our lives together,” Quatre admitted quietly. “But I barely have time to start anything. How is that fair to you?”

“Don’t you think I should be the judge of that?” Trowa asked. Quatre looked back up into his face. There was so much sadness in Quatre’s eyes, but there was hope too and where there was hope, there was life.

“I love you, Quatre,” he continued. “I want you to marry me. I’ve wanted you to marry me for years.”

Quatre smiled. He half-laughed, half-choked through the lump in his throat and the tears that ran down his face. “Keep going. You’re getting warmer.”

“Seriously?” Trowa asked in feigned offense. “And you call my cat an ass.” He pushed Quatre’s head down slightly and ruffled his hair, the way he’d used to when they’d rough house with each other and the dog.

Quatre pushed himself away from Trowa just enough to get his head out from under his hand. When Quatre’s head popped back up his hair looked like one of those funny looking chickens with afros.

“Well, that’s an improvement at least.” Trowa got a playful whack on his arm for that comment. “Ow.”

Quatre shifted. Trowa wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him in close. Quatre looked at him, a bright smile once again on his face. Trowa smiled too. “Marry me.”

“Yes.”

Trowa’s smile faded from shock. He wasn’t entirely sure he heard that right. “What?”

Quatre’s mouth quirked up. “It’s one syllable, Trowa. Follow along.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, it’s one. I counted.”

“Stop being a dick,” Trowa snapped, though there wasn’t any bite in the words. “You’re seriously saying yes?”

Quatre looked up into his eyes with love. “I love you.”

Trowa smiled and gently caressed Quatre’s cheek. “I love you too,” he whispered. He bent down and kissed Quatre gently, long and slow. When their lips parted, Quatre let out a breathless laugh.

“What?” Trowa asked in confusion.

“My lawyer’s going to have a fit.”

Trowa frowned. “Your will?”

“Yeah,” Quatre replied. “Want to know what’s in it?” he asked brightly.

“Not really, no.”

“You’re in it.”

“I’d really rather not think about it.”

Quatre shrugged and let the matter drop. “Alright.”

Trowa ran a hand down along Quatre’s body. Down the side of his face, his neck, his shoulder, chest, and waist. “You okay?” he asked as they curled against each other.

“I’m fine,” Quatre replied sleepily as he shifted, tucking himself into the crook of Trowa’s shoulder. Guy sounded like he was about to doze off again. “Everyone seems to be surprised by that.”

“You’re thin.”

“Only dropped ten pounds.” Apparently Quatre felt him frown because he ran his fingers gently along Trowa’s lips. “I’m still in the ‘healthy’ weight category. You don’t have to worry yet.”

“Rashid says you don’t eat that much anymore.”

“The headaches make me nauseous,” Quatre said into his shoulder. “Between the pain meds and the anti-nausea pills, I eat more than Rashid thinks I do.”

Trowa rested his head against Quatre’s and was about to drift off to sleep again when he realized that they were literally naked and had just had just made love in a rather public area with nothing but a single blanket to cover them.

He sat bolt upright, displacing Quatre with a start, and taking the top half of the blanket with him. A hot breeze traveled through the hallway and tickled his bare skin.

“Quatre,” he said. “Someone’s going to see us.”

Quatre chuckled contentedly, despite having been so rudely deposited on the rug. “No, they won’t,” he replied. There wasn’t an ounce of doubt in his voice. Trowa looked down at him. Quatre held his head up with an elbow against the rug. “They’re smart guys. They know our history and the house is big. They’ll stay away.”

Trowa looked down at him. “Still…”

Quatre sighed. “Alright, fine.” He crawled out from under the rug and began to get dressed. In spite of himself, Trowa was slow to follow. “Want to see the rest of the south wing?” Quatre asked.

“Not the north side?” Trowa asked as he fastened his jeans and put his shirt back on.

“We can check the north wing out tomorrow,” Quatre answered as he arranged his painting things in a corner of the garden, away from where passersby might trip on them. “I can’t do the whole place in one day.”

Trowa watched Quatre critically. He didn’t like the sound of that. When Quatre turned toward him and saw the thin line of his mouth he smiled, walked over, and gently put his hands on either side of Trowa’s face. “I’m fine,” he reassured him. “It’s just a large place.” He gave Trowa a quick kiss before leading him by the hand out of the garden. “Come on.”

***

Quatre led Trowa down a flight of light rose colored marble wide enough for four individuals to walk abreast comfortably. They’d explored the vast majority of the south wing of Commander Sada Ul’s mansion.

Many rooms had been private sleeping quarters, but there had been spacious conference rooms, grandiose ballrooms, a private art gallery which Trowa had been particularly impressed with. There had been an extensive gym with racquetball and tennis courts, a private movie theatre, exquisite music rooms, and even a personal recording studio. That last one had been a surprise. Apparently the commander was a patron of more than a few of the Middle Eastern indie artists.

“Your Commander has his finger in a lot of pies. I know he’s influential, but still...”

Quatre shrugged with a grin. “He’s a libertarian. He believes in the freedom of expression and individualism.”

“Is that why he has multiple wives?” Trowa asked sardonically.

“That’s a religious and a cultural thing,” Quatre responded patiently as they reached the main floor and turned right. “He has two wives. Both of whom have been with him longer than we’ve been alive. It’s not like he has a collection of concubines,” Quatre corrected him, partially twisting to look at him as they walked down the long, opulent corridor. “Fatima couldn’t have children, so, with her blessing, he married Hasna. She gave him five children.”

Trowa paused, looking stunned. He’d never seen the Commander pictured with children. The man was well known and well documented. He’d thought the old man childless. “What do you mean? If he has kids, where are they? Shouldn't they have taken over his estate by now?”

Quatre paused in front of a white door with silver latticework etched into opaque glass. “He lost them all to the conflict with the Alliance. He had a third wife too. Amadi. His youngest. She and his most of his children died in a bombing raid.”

Trowa stood there silently, stunned. The Commander had always been kind and welcoming to him. He’d assumed that was partly because he was a gentle old man and partly because he adored Quatre like one of his own. Where ever Quatre had been welcomed, so had he.

Years ago, Quatre had told him his father had been an only child, but from the outside looking in, the Commander’s relationship with Quatre was that of an uncle with a beloved nephew. He’d assumed their relationship had developed along a similar vein as Quatre’s and Rashid’s. Trowa had never imagined the Commander with kids of his own.

“Two of his sons, Samir and Hashem actually reached their twenties,” Quatre added with a lopsided shrug and a sad quirk of the lips. “Decided to fight in a war.”

“They didn’t come back.”

Quatre shook his head. The weight of that settled down on him. The Commander had such an optimistic disposition. It was disconcerting to know that he’d suffered so much loss. Trowa half-turned, looking back the way they’d come, as if the old man would mysteriously appear behind him. “How…?”

“Can he be as he is?” Quatre finished his question as Trowa turned back to him. Quatre’s head tilted to the side as he smiled. “Maybe because he’s a hopeless, romantic ideologue like the rest of us.”

“We changed the world.”

Quatre nodded. “At great personal cost. Yes we did.”

“I’m sorry,” Trowa said. He felt like a dick for making the wife comment.

Quatre shrugged dismissively. “You didn’t know. He doesn’t talk about it much. Besides,” he said as he pushed on the slender, artistically flared door latch. “Westerners like the harem fantasy too much. They weren’t nearly as sexually alluring as writers enjoyed making them out to be.”

Quatre pushed the door inward and flicked his head in that direction. “Come on, I’ll show you something much less depressing to think about.”

Quatre held the door open for him as he stepped past. The glossy floor looked like a mixture of sandy marble and rose quartz. Its style was different than the rest of the house. Fashioned with chic, precise lines and crisp edges to the furniture, expansive windows were covered in a swirling lattice design of silver, and the ceiling, also accented with silver latticework, swept upward to hold aloft a handsome silver and crystal chandelier.

The muted brown color of the square coffee table drew attention to the intricate thread work of the white and multihued rug it stood on and complemented the refined simplicity of the grey cushioned chairs and sofas which were themselves accented with pillows of cream, teal, and white.

The place looked decidedly Quatre-esque.

“You sure he didn’t pre-plan this room for you?” he asked teasingly as he looked around what appeared to be a personal sitting area.

“I wouldn’t be entirely surprised,” Quatre replied. He leaned against the open door, effectively propping it open, and casually rested his hands in his pockets.

As Trowa took the area in, he noticed a collection of paintings by a window. The first was a portrait of Danny Dog. Statuesque and noble with his long doeskin fur, his fluffy white mane, and that long narrow head. The epitome of a what a collie should be. “He was a good dog,” he said quietly, staring at the picture.

“The best.”

When Trowa turned his attention to the painting beside Danny Dog, an emotional lump caught in his throat.

It was a family portrait of sorts. The soft hues of the acrylic created an almost dreamy effect. It wasn’t intricately detailed, but it was obviously a painting of him and Quatre, walking along somewhere green. A park maybe.

They were holding hands and smiling, dressed as they typically were. Quatre in a light blue button down and tan slacks, himself in a loosely buttoned dress shirt and jeans. Both of them looked down and to the side where Danny Dog followed at his heels, rearing up on his back legs as he looked up at him, his tongue lolling out of his mouth in playful exuberance.

Trowa slowly reached out, running his fingers over the acrylic. He could feel the gradient thickness of the dried paint, could see the individual brush strokes and the individual colors that collectively formed the bigger picture.

Quatre smiled with empathy, resting his head against the door. “I thought you’d like that one,” he said softly.

For a long moment, Trowa was lost in the memories Quatre’s painting brought forth. Quatre’s birthday, when he’d presented Quatre with Danny Dog. Puppy Danny destroying a pair of Quatre’s best pair of leather shoes and a much less expensive pair of his own suspenders. Walks in the park, like in the painting. Danny Dog barking at the dolphins as they sailed on the Red Sea. Danny curling up with them in bed. Two men and a dog.

“You always played more than you painted,” Trowa commented, half talking to himself. “I forgot how good you are.”

Quatre left his place against the door and walked up behind Trowa, wrapping his arms around his waist and looking at his work from behind Trowa’s shoulder. “I paint more than I play these days,” he replied. Trowa absently placed a hand on one of Quatre’s arms. A natural, tender gesture. “The violin isn’t the easiest instrument to play and I get tired easily.”

Trowa looked over his shoulder, meeting Quatre’s eyes. Quatre tilted his head to the side with a smile, even as his head rested against Trowa’s arm. His expression reminded him of a playful golden retriever. Those eyes of his were bright and sparkled with life.

Trowa smiled down at him before noticing that an old violin standing by itself on a pedestal with its bow. His brows knit together in surprise. “You’re using your old practice violin.” He looked down at Quatre.

“Never could get anything past you, could I?” Quatre asked teasingly.

Trowa frowned. Quatre hadn’t played his practice instrument in years. He had several high end, even professional grade violins. Both acoustic and electric. He distinctly remembered going into halfsies with Rashid to buy Quatre a looping station one year. Quatre had been ecstatic.

“Why are you playing that thing?”

Quatre extricated himself from Trowa and that’s when he saw it. A large shadow box with both Quatre’s best and most played violins: his Scott Cao acoustic and his Bridge Dragon electric, made specifically for him with a white opal finish.

The Scott Cao he’d picked up at auction when he was in his early twenties. He’d paid a hefty price tag, but the instrument was professional grade and its sound had been magnificent. Quatre hadn’t regretted paying what he had.

The Bridge Dragon had been a collective gift given to him by his high school friends. They’d gifted him the custom made seven-stringed challenge upon his return to school after he’d been gravely wounded in the Eurussian Insurrection. The cover story was that he’d been sick with some viral thing.

To this day, Quatre’s identity as a Gundam pilot, and everyone else’s, remained a secret. Only the closest of their inner circle knew their full histories.

Trowa paused, staring at Quatre’s treasures, mounted so firmly in a beautiful, rich wooden display. It reminded him of the reality of what was happening. Quatre was dying and this was him making plans, parting gifts, to those who he’d leave behind.

The lump returned to his throat and he had to fight the tears that started to collect in the corner of his eyes.

Quatre watched him as he took everything in. His smile was soft and understanding, with a hint of regret. An expression of letting go, even while a part of him still tried to hold on to what he had.

“It wouldn’t do to wreck such good violins,” Quatre said quietly after a while. Trowa looked down at Quatre, who once again, stood casually by with his hands in his pockets.

Quatre smiled. A silent signal of comfort. “I drop things...sometimes,” he admitted with a half-hearted shrug. “I get tired easily. Holding a violin in position for extended periods of time takes stamina. I’ve already busted a nice violin. Didn’t want the best ones to suffer the same fate. Would have been cry-worthy.”

“Quatre…”

“This is what you’re getting yourself into, Trowa,” Quatre said, looking at him with critical eyes. “You’re walking in while I’m leaving.”

Trowa stiffened in offense. Quatre was trying to get rid of him again. “I know what I’m getting myself into,” he replied defensively. Trowa couldn’t place the expression that crossed Quatre’s pretty face.

“Do you?” he asked, looking up into Trowa’s green eyes. His voice was soft. Contemplative. “I’m not sure you do.”

Trowa’s stomach growled. They both stared at each other for a moment before looking down at his stomach, then back to each other. “You planned that,” Quatre accused in mild amusement.

“I really didn’t.”

“You’re right,” Quatre agreed as he turned and walked away. “Your comedic timing is non-existent.”

“Just because I’m not you or Duo…” Trowa grumbled as he followed Quatre out of the room.

“We’re actually pretty close to the Commander’s personal kitchen,” Quatre told him, once again leading the way down the corridor. Trowa gently closed Quatre’s door behind him quietly and followed obediently.

“He has more than one?”

Quatre’s laughter sounded like bell chimes, it always sounded like bell chimes to him, as his long legs easily brought him alongside his new fiance. The thought of that word made him smile.

“The larger one is on the other side,” Quatre replied. “It’s fully staffed with a head chef and everything. They roll out the stops when powerful dignitaries visit.”

“And us?” Trowa asked.

Quatre smiled, a mischievous twinkle glinted in his eyes as he stopped in front of a dark wooden door and pressed his back against it. “We get to raid the fridge,” he answered, disappearing into the room with a muffled click of the door opening behind him.

Trowa followed him in, albeit, much more sedately. “You are way too excited about that.”

“He keeps it well stocked,” Quatre said matter-of-factly.

The kitchen was large and, like the rest of mansion, crafted with rich redwood and arabic arches. The floor, however, was a made of handsome stonework. Dark granite countertops sparkled with black opal in places and steel grey appliances lined the wall opposite of the door with a large island countertop in the middle.

“This isn’t large?” Trowa asked dryly. “This is larger than most of my apartment.”

“Your apartment’s not that big.”

Trowa turned around in a circle, taking in the subtle display of wealth of the kitchen. Everything here was high end. It looked darker, warmer, older than rest of the place, yet still a part of it. It reminded him of the age he’d felt in the garden.

“Why does this room and the garden look more worn than the rest of the mansion?” Trowa asked as Quatre stared into the fridge he’d just opened.

“The garden and this room were actually parts of the old house his family lived in hundreds of years ago,” he answered. He abandoned the fridge, closing it and turning his search to the freezer. “The place was destroyed during a period of civil unrest that swept the Middle East for decades.”

“Before…”

“Oh God, yes,” Quatre said, cutting him off. He took out a pint of ice cream, closed the freezer, and rummaged around for a spoon. “That was years before the colonies were even conceptualized.”

Quatre lifted himself and his ice cream onto the island, where he crossed his legs and pulled off the lid. “The garden and the foundation for this room were all that was left, so they kept them and built everything else around them.” Quatre waved his spoon distractedly to indicate the Commander’s mansion.

Trowa’s smile was small, but good natured as he shook his head at Quatre. He walked up and pulled out some ingredients to make a sandwich. “Should you really be stuffing yourself with ice cream?” he asked, pointing to Quatre’s vanilla bean. “It’s nothing but empty calories.”

“I’ve never been quite the health nut you are,” Quatre replied dismissively, running his spoon along the rim of the container. Trowa gave him a pointed look.

Quatre paused under that expression, looking at Trowa from behind his spoon. He held his arms out from his sides. “What? I’m not.”

“It’s not healthy,” Trowa lectured mildly. He stacked lettuce and slices of tomato, onions, cheese, and chicken between sections of home made bread.

Quatre’d always had a bad sweet tooth. He’d just done a good job of keeping his diet balanced in the past. “And anyway,” he added as he put away what he hadn’t used. “Eating too much of that will make you sick.”

“Thank you, mother hen,” Quatre replied sarcastically. Trowa looked across the bridge of his nose to Quatre. Sitting on the island, they were about even in height.

“Your issue with the latter is helped by my anti-nausea pills I already take. Helps keep the normal, healthier, food I eat down. Haven’t dropped much weight once they put me on it and as for the former…” Quatre paused, mid-sentence to take another bite of ice cream. “I’m dying,” he finished. “I have not one, but multiple tumors that are slowly pressing on my brain.”

Trowa frowned at the reminder. “Your point?”

“My point,” Quatre said, eating another spoonful. “Is that my brain is suffocating faster than anything bad that will happen because of the food I’m putting in my mouth. I’m eating what I want.”

Quatre had a fair point, but Trowa wasn’t about to openly concede defeat. “So what happens when you get cured? Now you’re just fat,” he countered with mock sincerity.

Quatre shrugged and answered flippantly. “Die of congestive heart failure...or diabetes.”

Trowa put down the sandwich he had been about to bite into and gave Quatre a chastising look.

“What?” I thought it was funny.”

“There you two are.” Rashid’s rumbling voice filled the room as the big man walked in. “The Commander was looking for you both.”

Both Quatre and Trowa startled at the man’s appearance. He never ceased to amaze Trowa by how stealthy the man could be. They stared at each other for a moment before looking up at him.

“What?” Rashid asked in obvious confusion.

Quatre looked to Trowa, a stunned and uncertain expression on his face, “Did you conference him in...at all?”

Rashid looked from Quatre to Trowa as the two former Gundam pilots stared at each other, then at him. “What’s going on?”

“Well…” Trowa stalled.

“Seriously?”

“What?” Rashid asked again. “Master Quatre?”

Trowa looked to Quatre. “Maybe you should tell him.”

Quatre scooped more ice cream as he motioned in Rashid’s direction with another spoonful of vanilla bean. “You can totally take him.”

“Would one of you tell me what is going on between you two?” Rashid demanded, hands on his hips in annoyance. At the same time, Quatre and Trowa both looked up at Rashid.

“I’m eating ice cream,” Quatre answered before putting the spoon back in his mouth.

Rashid glared at Quatre like an annoyed parent would throw upon their child. He then turned his gaze on Trowa, who suddenly felt as if he was once again behind enemy lines.

“I asked Quatre to marry me.”

“Oh.”


	4. Chapter 4

Rashid led Trowa to a latticed door of carved wood. The bright morning sunlight, the glimpses of green he saw through the door, and the smell of sweet Arabian jasmine told him this was an outdoor garden of sorts. He followed behind the big man as Rashid pushed the door open.

The courtyard was minimally decorated with sparse trees. Bushes lined the far wall where another latticed door led to another part of the complex. Delicate chairs and tables lined the wall to their right and to their left, was a large, expansive set of cages, each with its own individual falcon.

A dark-skinned man appearing to be exiting late middle age with a turban on his head met them in the middle of the courtyard. “Salaam walekum,” Rashid said, holding his hand out to the man.

“Walikum salam,” the man responded. His bright white, toothy smile disconcerted Trowa a little. The men shook hands with genial familiarity.

Rashid stepped aside, motioning to Trowa with an open arm. “Ashraf, this is Trowa. Trowa, Ashraf, Commander Sada Ul’s personal falconer.”

Trowa reached out for the man’s hand as he stepped forward. Ashraf’s smile didn’t falter as he took his hand. “Salaam walekum,” Trowa greeted.

Ashraf bobbed his head in approval. “Walikum salam.” Ashraf stood tall, about as tall as Trowa himself, and looked over Trowa with a critical eye, like a jeweler appraising a gem. “I see you taught the Westerner some basic Arabic,” Ashraf said to Rashid in English.

Trowa casually placed his hands in his pockets and smirked. The guy was sizing him up, grading him. Should be expected, he reminded himself. Quatre was one of the, if not the, most famous and recognized Arabic families in the Earth Sphere Unified Nation. Everyone knew who he was.

And everyone was going to hold whoever he married to a pretty high standard.

“Quatre ealamani,” Trowa corrected.

The old man threw back his head and laughed. “Rjayaan 'aetaniun,” the man replied. “Forgive me, forgive me.” He smiled at Trowa with a mischievous glimmer in his eye. “It would make sense that the young Master Winner would teach his soon-to-be husband some of his native tongue, eh, yes?”

Trowa looked at Rashid who was smiling in reserved amusement. Apparently, the big man thought something rather funny. “Your boy caught a live one, Rashid. He talks back. Good that he’s not a woman.”

Trowa tipped his head slightly and arched an eyebrow, giving Rashid a pointed look. “Ashraf is...conservative, in the area of a woman’s place in the household,” Rashid explained.

“I am a dying breed,” Ashraf lamented, turning around and moving toward his birds. “These birds are a comfort to an old man’s soul.”

Rashid followed Ashraf and Trowa followed close at his side. “They’re impressive,” Trowa complimented the old man.

The man slashed him a toothy smile over his shoulder. “You know about birds of prey?”

“Not really. A guy that worked at my circus was a falconer. He let me feed his bird once.” Trowa said as they came to stand in front of the first cage. The muddy brown feathers of the falcon in front of them eased into a white underbelly with speckles.

“Good, good,” Ashraf bobbed his head in interest. “What was it?”

“Goshawk.”

“Very nice. A handsome, noble bird. A fine choice for gaming.” He spread his arm wide to indicate all his birds. “The Commander and I both prize the Saker Falcon as our personal preference.”

Something bright and white caught Trowa’s eye in the farthest cage. He stepped away from the two men and walked over. Flapping her wings in front of him was a magnificent bird. Mostly white with a rusty, golden tinge to her.

Ashraf laughed from behind him. “You have a good eye, Master Trowa. That is the commander’s best, most prized bird of all. She took me years to cultivate. She is the finest hunter.” The golden saker falcon flew down to perch close to Trowa. They eyed each other critically, each considering the other. “Her name is Jawahra.”

“Jewel,” Trowa said softly.

“She likes you.”

“Would you like to test her, Trowa?” Rashid’s voice boomed.

Trowa turned toward Rashid, the man was waiting patiently at the beginning of the cages. He looked to Ashraf. “Can we?” he asked. He didn’t hide the excitement that crept into his voice.

Both men smiled at him. “Of course.”

***

The clean, earthy sweet smell of ivy and Arabian jasmine mingled with the tropical fragrance of lilies and yellow roses. The bright aroma of Commander Sada Ul’s garden drifted into his sleep. Slowly, the warm scent of honey, chamomile, and lavender tea joined the bouquet of aromas that mixed about the air.

Quatre opened his eyes, blinking against the shaded afternoon sunlight. He looked up and over the armrest and pillow he had been sleeping on. The vaulted arched windows and open entranceway, absent of any glass, separated the room from the Commander’s indoor garden. The light that trickled down from the glass dome above the garden seeped into the sitting area where he had fallen asleep, bathing the area in warm, natural light.

A soft clink captured his attention.

Quatre pulled his eyes away from the beautiful arches and the garden on the other side to look directly across the dark mahogany coffee table. An ornate, curvaceous Turkish teapot, gold and lavender in color, sat on a large serving plate of gold filigree. A single cylindrical teacup, slightly concave in the middle and absent a handle, on a matching saucer, waited to be filled in front of him.

The teapot rose up and disappeared from view. The gentle sound of liquid being poured filtered into his ears and the sweet smell of the tea intensified, not unpleasantly so. The teapot returned with another soft clink.

Quatre smiled and stretched, slightly displacing the comforting weight of a throw blanket. He looked over his shoulder. An artist’s gold, black, and smokey gray rendition of the ninety-nine names of Allah, set in beautiful Arabic calligraphy, covered him. He didn’t remember falling asleep with it.

“Did you rest well?” Commander Sada Ul’s kind, grandfatherly voice traveled across the table. The Commander sat opposite him on a modernly styled white sofa, a twin to the one he had fallen asleep on.

Quatre pushed himself to a sitting position, the blanket pooling around his waist. His thin, lightweight shirt was rolled up at the sleeves. The weather was getting warmer, but right now, it was perfect. Sunny, warm, and slightly breezy through the mansion’s use of natural wind currents.

And then the headache came back.

Quatre shut his eyes tight, pressing a hand on the side of his head. It felt as though his head was in a vice, being slowly and constantly pushed on by a block of concrete. The pain enveloped his senses, taking over everything.

Dimly, in the back of his mind, he heard Sada Ul’s voice say something in Arabic. His mind was so foggy with pain, he didn’t know what he’d said, couldn’t make it out. He didn’t know if it was directed at him or not, not that it mattered over the crushing force inside his head. He felt more than heard someone walk away, brisque and hurried. Not the Commander.

What felt like both an eternity later and yet no time at all, a comforting hand gripped his shoulder. His unoccupied hand was turned over, palm up and something small and round was placed in his hand, followed by something smooth, cool, and round pressed against his fingers.

His tramadol and something to chase it down with.

Obediently, he popped the pill and took the glass that was offered him. Pure water, cold and refreshing, entered his mouth and spilled down his throat, taking his medication with it. He propped his elbow on his knee and rested his forehead against the chill glass in his hand while his other hand continued to hold the side of his head.

When the pain had reduced enough, he opened his eyes. His vision was blurry. That was new.

He closed his eyes again and waited a while before opening them again. The pain in his head was still there, but at least it wasn’t crippling like before and his vision had clarified.

He retracted his hand from his head, holding it out. The retainer who stood over him looked questioningly to Commander Sada Ul, who nodded silently. The man placed Quatre’s bottle of tramadol in his waiting palm.

Commander Sada Ul politely dismissed the retainer as Quatre opened the bottle and threw back another pill.

“How long have you been taking two?”

Quatre could hear the concern in his voice. “Few days,” Quatre replied, setting the glass of water on the table. “Maybe a week.” He pressed the heels of his palms against his closed eyes. The pain would go away eventually. He hoped so at least. The tramadol was working less and less these days.

When the pain subsided enough to take his hands away he allowed them to drop, his forearms resting on his knees. He looked up at the Commander. His lips were a tight, thin line of disapproval.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Quatre said with mild irritation.

“I know your dosage,” Sada Ul reminded him sternly. “You’re not supposed to take more than one, certainly not at the same time.”

“One doesn’t cut it.”

“I’ll have Rashid call your doctor. They’ll give you something else,” he said, waving his retainer back. He spoke in Arabic again, telling the man to inform Rashid to call Quatre’s doctor. The man left. “The last thing you need is to overdose.”

“Where is Rashid,” Quatre asked, straightening up and looking around. “Where’s Trowa?” He didn’t see either of them. Between those two, the Commander, the other Maguanacs, and his sisters currently staying here as well, he was never left alone.

“Rashid took him to see the falcons.”

Commander Sada Ul, like many of Middle Eastern nobility, had an affection for falconry. He had a full-time falconer on staff to manage the several falcons he kept. Quatre had seen them in action more than once. The falcons were a sight to behold. Regal, powerful, lethal. But the riding on horseback, the finding of the bird, and the dispatching of the hare it typically caught wasn’t exactly to his liking. He’d always felt more like the doomed hare than the deadly falcon.

“He’ll enjoy that,” Quatre said. Trowa was kind and considerate, but there was also a part of him that appreciated the primal power of top predators, like the lions and other big cats he had worked with at the circus so many years ago.

“Have some tea, Quatre,” the Commander instructed, leaning forward to pour the steaming amber liquid into the only unused cup available.

Quatre complied without comment, picking up the finely made glass he was offered. They sat together for a while, drinking in quiet company. Quatre stared out into the old garden. Several slender grey-brown birds with long tails hopped about each other, pecking at the ground. He smiled.

Commander Sada Ul watched him, staring out, enjoying the birds. He was thinner than when he’d arrived, dropping another five or ten pounds. The headaches had gotten worse, though Quatre was obviously reluctant to admit it. Nausea had also worsened, resulting in more frequent bouts of appetite loss and sickness.

The Commander's personal physician, who he kept on call had said the boy was still within healthy parameters, though the staff had taken precautions to make sure Quatre stayed hydrated, despite the weight loss.

Watching such a young, healthy, vibrant life wither away was heartbreaking. He’d always admired the strength of Quatre’s convictions, his dedication to positive change through his own actions, and through his ability to lead others. From the beginning, the boy had been a force to be reckoned with. Even his father hadn’t been able to contain him.

He’d had grand hopes for the boy, much larger than those his father had placed upon him. Sada Ul always imagined him leading his father’s company well, which he’d done, as expected. But he’d also envisioned more.

The leader of his home colony, again like his father, then a step above that, running the entire L4 cluster, and eventually President of the entire Earth Sphere Unified Nation. Zayeed’s son was quixotic, a visionary with a dream of a better future for everyone. The perfect individual to continue shepherding the peace he’d helped bring about.

It was painful, watching all that promise be slowly extinguished.

“They’re very altruistic birds,” the Commander said gently.

“Hmm?” Quatre asked, tearing his gaze from the birds. He looked at Sada Ul, considering the man. “What do you mean?”

Sada Ul motioned the hopping birds with his hand that held his tea. “Arabian Babblers.” The slender birds with puffy chests bopped around each other, sometimes flying off somewhere before returning. “They live in complex social groups, sometimes even fighting others over the right to care for another. They are,” the Commander said with a pause. “A true example of what Allah intended, I think.”

Quatre considered him for a long moment. The old man smiled warmly at him. “Maybe you’re a babbler,” Quatre commented offhandedly, returning his gaze to the happy birds. The Commander laughed genially.

“Perhaps.” He smiled, as Quatre watched them with interest. “You always did love the Earth.” The Commander’s voice was soft as if he was almost talking to himself.

Quatre’s own mouth quirked up in a smile, even as he stayed focused on the birds. “There’s nothing this beautiful in space.” He shrugged. “Space is magnificent in its own right, but…” Quatre paused, searching for something to say. He shook his head. “We know the stars are made of organic compounds. We know this. We live among it. But this…”

Quatre motioned at the garden with his free hand. “ _This_ is vibrant. This is _organic_. This is millions of years of slow, steady evolution. Everything in space is synthetic. _This_ is _life_. As it should be.” He turned a contemplative expression onto the Commander. His eyes sparkled, lively and vibrant, for which the Commander was relieved to see. “There’s profound poetry in that.”

Sada Ul smiled knowingly. He was definitely his parents’ son. “You were always a romantic too.”

Quatre huffed a small laugh. “We all are,” he replied before taking a long sip of the tea. It warmed his body and eased the nausea. “Is everything ready for the weekend?”

“What can be done is being handled, not to worry. Abdul and Ahmed are picking up the other Gundam pilots and their families as we speak. Rashid and I have staggered the influx of guests so you can greet them in small groups over the course of the next few days.” Quatre opened his mouth. “With breaks in between,” the Commander spoke over him, cutting off any protest.

“You get exhausted too easily and a wedding is a busy affair. You can afford to take the latter half of the week to gradually welcome everyone and rest up the day before. There’s enough to do around here to keep everyone occupied for a few days.”

“You don’t think it’s a good idea,” Quatre said, speaking into his cup. He watched the Commander through critical eyes.

“I’m wondering if it is wise,” Sada Ul replied calmly.

“Is this coming from you or Rashid,” Quatre asked suspiciously.

Everyone had been surprised, though not entirely shocked at the announcement of his engagement to Trowa. His history with Trowa was long. Even though they’d fallen apart in the end, Trowa had always put Quatre’s best interest above his own. Everyone who mattered to him knew that. There was no way they should have a problem with Trowa asking a question he’d wanted to ask for years.

“Whatever Rashid’s concerns may be, I expect he has already shared them with you.”

Quatre took a cautious sip of tea as he considered the man. It was coming from him then. “And yours?”

The Commander sighed and poured pour tea for himself, relaxing into the sofa with the cup to warm his hands. “Are you sure this is the best decision, Quatre?”

“I’m dying,” Quatre replied evenly. “I don’t think there’s going to be a _better_ time.”

“Have you consulted Dr. Farlan?”

“Yes. She said it was our decision. She knows our history just as well as any of you,” he said, shifting his seat to drape a leg over the other. “She made the point that we’re the best equipped to know if it would be right or not.”

“Emotions can lead us astray.”

“What’s your concern,” Quatre asked again. The Commander wasn’t being clear. “What’s troubling your mind?”

“Everyone can see that he loves you,” Sada Ul said delicately.

“But…”

The Commander’s face softened. “No one wants him to hurt any more than he already will.”

Quatre’s eyebrows rose and fell as he finally understood. It wasn’t about him so much as it was about Trowa. They thought Trowa was setting himself up for disaster.

“He still has hope.”

Quatre nodded. “I think he does too. I try to temper it with realistic expectations, but…” He shrugged, staring into his cup. “I have a feeling he won’t accept it until I’m gone.”

The Commander dipped his head slightly, trying to meet Quatre’s eyes. “And yet you still said yes?”

Quatre looked up. The Commander’s dark brown eyes were warm and comforting. The man was steadfast and kind. So very much like Rashid. Quatre smiled weakly.

“You think not marrying me would spare him any amount of pain?” The Commander opened his arms helplessly, holding his tea in one.

“Who am I to say?” he asked. “The sentiment is understandable, but is it the right thing?” The Commander smiled kindly. “But who am I to judge,” he asked, shifting is aging body to a more comfortable position. “I’m just an old man without any children.”

Quatre looked at the man with empathy. Such a wonderful man deserved a dozen fat, healthy children.

He took a final sip of the tea and stood up. He wobbled slightly as his feet tingled. He held his arms out to the side in surprise, balancing so as not to fall. His balance quickly came back and he walked around to stand in front of the Commander. The man was sitting at the edge of the sofa, ready to spring into action if necessary, as best his old body could. His mouth had turned down in a frown.

Quatre smiled in appeasement. “My feet just fell asleep,” he reassured him. “I’m fine.” He reached down and took Commander Sada Ul’s hand in one of his. “You’re a great man, Commander. Your children would be proud.”

Sada Ul smiled warmly up into Quatre’s eyes. Understanding and mutual love for each other plainly written on their faces. The Commander flicked his head in the direction of the birds. “Go enjoy them,” he said. “I’ll have Kashem bring you some treats for the birds.”

Quatre smiled again. He dropped Sada Ul’s hand and walked slowly walked towards the birds, trying not to startle them.

“Such a shame,” the Commander lamented to himself as he watched Quatre walk away.

***

The afternoon was late and Trowa guessed it was about time for them to head back. It would be dinnertime by the time they arrived back at Commander Sada Ul’s mansion and, though he knew Quatre was being well-watched, leaving him for a day made him nervous.

After carefully packing up Ashraf’s falcon, Ashraf, Rashid and himself had taken a car a ways out into the desert. They’d taken him to a large stable full of fine Arabian horses. Rashid had explained that the Commander owned the stable in partnership with another, influential sheik. They had each been fitted with a mount tacked in traditional Arab style.

From there, they had traveled farther out into the desert, letting Jawharah take flight and hunt. She was breathtaking to see in flight, a deadly blonde missile on the prowl in the sky. It was her job to hunt. It was their job to find her.

Ashraf led the way on his pretty little grey who always pranced. Bright and alert, the young mare never seemed to want to stand still. Rashid rode next to him on a fiery chestnut with a handsomely tapered white line down his face and three flashy white feet. The tallest horse in the stable still looked small under Rashid’s giant frame. His own mount was a well-behaved bay mare with kind eyes and a patient disposition. She held her head regally and was smooth as silk to ride.

When Rashid had complimented him on his competency on horseback, he’d nonchalantly quipped that the circus had been a place of diverse experiences. Rashid had laughed. The sound, though booming, had been warm with mirth. It had made his heart glad.

Many years before, at the beginning of his and Quatre’s eventual off and on relationship, Trowa had been concerned that Rashid’s Islamic faith would clash negatively with their relationship. Rashid and all the Maguanacs held a significant place in Quatre’s life and heart. Such an ideological rift was possible considering Islam’s strict opinion on non-heterosexual relationships.

Thankfully, everyone seemed to have already been aware of their Master’s feelings toward him, even before either of them had been. It had been a non-issue. Rashid’s explanation had been that Islam’s opinion of sexuality had been born in a socioeconomic time that was vastly different than the present. Religious leaders and even the prophet Muhammed did the best they could to articulate Allah’s will, but they were human.

“All is as Allah wills it,” Rashid had said. “He doesn’t make mistakes. He made Master Quatre and you the way you are. A person can be shaped by their experiences, but biology is biology. That is His jurisdiction. If He made you the way you are, who am I to say he’s wrong?”

 

Trowa could see that Rashid’s kindness, openness, and fatherly relationship with Quatre was a cherished thing for them both. He hadn’t expected it, but Rashid’s unhesitating acceptance of him within that nuclear family they had developed had truly touched him. He valued the man’s opinion of him highly.

Ashraf was several paces ahead of them, leading them in the direction of Jawahra’s last sighting. Trowa paused, pulling his mare up with a gentle tug on the reins. Rashid, looking at him curiously, followed suit. They sat astride their mounts, side by side, in the midst of the windswept desert.

“You didn’t bring me out here just to play around with birds.”

The creased lines of Rashid’s confusion smoothed into an expression of understanding. Rashid knew he was no idiot. “No, I didn’t,” he admitted. Rashid looked at Ashraf. The man was far enough away that they could speak in private without fear of being left too far behind their guide. He looked down at Trowa with all seriousness. “I need to know you fully understand what you’re getting yourself into.”

Trowa pressed his lips into a thin line. It was a little late for Rashid to try to talk him out of marrying Quatre, wasn’t it? “I love him, Rashid,” he said. “You know that.”

Rashid placidly held up a hand. “I’m not worried about your intentions,” Rashid reassured him. “I’ve known you far too long.”

“Then what…?”

“I’m concerned,” Rashid interrupted gently. “That you might be putting yourself through a lot of undue pain.”

That statement surprised him. He leaned away from Rashid in shock. His mare took a step to the side in response.

“I’m not the only one who fears this,” Rashid added.

“Who?” Trowa’s voice was weak.

Rashid shrugged the question away. “I’ve gotten questions.”

Surprise devolved into anger. Quatre was dying. That was hard enough. “Whoever it is can…” he started to shoot back.

“Ah, ah,” Rashid interrupted firmly, holding up his hand again. “Displaced anger is not going to help you here.”

Trowa looked away in irritation. Rashid was right and that rubbed him the wrong way too. Begrudgingly, he understood the sentiment. Trowa had just learned that Quatre was dying. He had less than a year left, only slightly more than six months. It was a highly emotional and difficult situation under any circumstances. For him to suddenly propose? A logical person would question such an action.

He looked back to Rashid. “I’ve had the rings for years,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Rashid said gently and Trowa saw an immense sadness in those deep, dark coffee colored eyes of his. “But Trowa, he’s not going to get better.”

“He might,” Trowa insisted. The hope in his voice sounded pathetic.

“Trowa.”

“He might.”

“He’s not.”

Trowa looked away again. Rashid was most likely to be right. He knew that. He wasn’t in complete denial. He just couldn’t shake the idea that some miracle might happen that would allow Quatre to live the long life he deserved. He had to admit though, the odds weren’t good.

“Even if he doesn’t,” Trowa conceded, looking back to Rashid. “What’s the harm in spending what time’s left the way we’d want to spend the rest of our lives?”

Rashid looked out across the sands. His face was contemplative. “Quatre made a similar argument.” He turned back to Trowa and offered a smile. It was bittersweet. “The answer is...there isn’t. Quatre is…” Rashid’s voice broke and the big man looked down at the ground. It tore at Trowa’s heart to see such a strong man look so fragile.

“He’s a son to you.”

Rashid nodded. When he met Trowa’s eyes again, his own were wet, though his face was not yet tearstained. “And you are as much a part of my family as he is. Everyone feels the same. But Trowa, you need to be prepared for the most likely outcome.”

“Which ends in a funeral, I know.”

Rashid gave him a sympathetic look. “No matter what happens,” he said. “You will always be welcome among us.”

They stood there for a moment in complete love and respect for one another.

A high pitched whiny pierced the quiet of the desert. Both men looked toward the sound. Ashraf was riding back towards them. The golden saker falcon sitting nobly on a hand while a dead hare hung from the side of the mare’s saddle.

Trowa and Rashid guided their mounts to follow Ashraf once again as they headed back in silence.

***

Quatre meandered into the sitting room that adjoined his bedroom. He’d fallen asleep again after welcoming Heero and Duo’s families. Wufei might have arrived already. He wasn’t sure. Someone would come get him when he did though.

He looked around. The room had been cleared out a bit since Trowa had arrived. All of his finished paintings had been sent to a local shop for framing and packaging, made ready for their intended recipients.

He grazed his fingers over the dried paint on his latest project, a large rectangular piece. The backdrop was a combination of white, cream, and light pink. The foreground...The entirety of the score to the waltz for solo violin he’d written and played for Duo and Hilde at their wedding.

A small smile pulled at his lips. He loved these people. So very much. He didn’t want to leave them.

But wanting wouldn’t change anything.

He dropped his hand and made his way over to one of the decorative tables that adorned the room. A single violin was held upright by a handsome wooden stand. He took the bow in one hand and gently grasped the neck of the violin, pulling it out of the stand’s offering arms.

Carefully, so as not to overbalance and fall over, Quatre sat down in a chair. He tucked the bow under his arm, using both hands to run his hands over the delicate wood of the violin.

It was a Stradivarius. An exact replica of Antonio Stradivari’s famous 1714, pre-A.C., model, considered to be one of the finest he’d ever made. The bright amber color of the wood came from aged European Spruce and Maple. It was a professional grade, traditional violin. Even if it was just his practice instrument, it was an envious piece of art in its own right.

He smiled. He knew this particular violin like an old friend, the same way he knew all of his violins. They each had their own character, played a little differently. This one went back to basics. All skill and no flair to detract from the violinist’s ability.

His fingers tingled as he placed the violin in position. He could barely feel the strings under his fingers through the numbness. Quatre’s lips drew into a thin line of concentration. The loss of sensation in his fingers had grown significantly in the month Trowa had been here.

His strength to hold the instrument for extended periods of time had diminished. He couldn’t play the long songs anymore and struggled to play the easier, shorter melodies. But he hadn’t given up on his ability to play just yet. He was determined to keep playing for as long as possible, even if he had to fight his own body to do it.

He raised his bow and drew a note. It was perfect. He smiled.

Slowly, he eased into a gentle song, one he could play in his sleep. It was calm and sweet. Light and flirty. The fingerwork wasn’t difficult, so it suited his degraded ability, but it was a fun and enjoyable tune.

Quickly, all too quickly, his violin arm began to weaken. It took effort to hold the instrument that he could wield with as much accuracy as his Gundam.

The tingling numbness in his fingers was spreading. He could see the bow moving across the strings, but he couldn’t feel himself holding it. He could hear the individual notes he was playing but he was playing from muscle memory. He couldn’t feel his fingers on the strings at all anymore.

Panic started to creep into him. How could he continue to play if he couldn’t feel what he was doing? Only his ears told him he was still correct.

A terrible screech grated in his ear, filling the room with a god-awful sound. Birds perched on a tree limb outside his room flew away in fright. Quatre’s eyes squeezed shut against the terrible murder of a note.

His bow fell to the floor with a clatter. Quatre opened his eyes, looking down at it. Reluctantly, he set the violin down next to him and stared at the hands that had finally betrayed him so thoroughly.

A soft knock on the door pulled his head up. The door opened and Ahmed peeked his head in. “Wufei’s here, Master.”

Quatre put on a smile. “Thanks, Ahmed.” He stood up and walked up to the man.

“Dinner’s almost ready too and Rashid left word that they would be back soon as well. Everyone who's here is hanging out in the sitting room off the kitchen.”

“Guess we shouldn’t keep them waiting, then should we?” he asked and led the way down the hall.

Ahmed looked into the room as Quatre left. Quatre’s violin sat, abandoned on the arm of the chair he’d vacated. The bow laid where it had fallen, left neglected, on the cold hard marble floor. Ahmed frowned and looked down the hall at Quatre’s receding figure.


	5. Chapter 5

Quatre and Trowa were slow to wake up. The morning sun was peeking through the curtains and the desert birds were chirping. Trowa stretched and shifted, tucking an arm behind his head and staring up at the ceiling. By the amount of shifting going on next to him, Quatre had woken up too.

Quatre twisted to his side so he could face Trowa. Quatre laid his head on Trowa’s chest and lazily dusted his fingers across Trowa’s well-toned muscles. Trowa looked down into Quatre’s big eyes and smiled. He found contentment there. “Morning.”

Quatre smiled back. “Morning. One more day.”

Trowa pulled in a breath. “Yeah. One more day,” he agreed. Today Sada Ul would make sure everything was ready for the wedding tomorrow. They had the rehearsal dinner and then after that...he’d be bunking with Heero for the night.

Trowa looked back up to the ceiling, quietly contemplating the festivities about to take place. It was going to be a much bigger affair than he’d imagined. He’d expected a quiet, intimate, personal thing, not the grand event it had become.

“Do we really need 200 guests?”

“It’s a little late to negotiate the guest list, don’t you think?” Quatre drawled sleepily.

“I know that between your sisters, the Maguanacs, and our friends, there’s a lot of people, but still…”

“Getting stage fright?” Quatre asked with a smile.

Trowa turned his head, resting his chin on the top of Quatre’s head. He absently ran his fingers through Quatre’s hair. “I’m used to a circus audience, but...this is different.”

“You’ve gotten concerned questions.”

Trowa kissed the top of Quatre’s head. Quatre nestled in closer. “Sounds like you have too.”

“They aren’t entirely wrong,” Quatre said quietly. His voice was soft, almost inaudible against Trowa’s skin. His breath was warm, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“They’re not entirely right either,” Trowa countered mildly.

Quatre’s smile dropped. “Are you sure you want to do this, Trowa?”

“You can still say no.”

“That’s not what…”

“I know,” Trowa interrupted. “I’m just saying. If you did...Backing out is always an option.”

Quatre shook his head against Trowa’s chest. The sensation almost tickled and brought a smile to Trowa’s face. “ I just don’t think…”

“You worry too much.”

Quatre shut his mouth and looked up into Trowa’s face, giving him a scolding look that was less than sincere. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“I do,” he agreed. “And I’m not going to change my mind. Ball’s in your court.”

“I’ll have five months...tops.”

“Barring anything unexpected curing you,” Trowa interjected. Quatre smiled in understanding. Trowa still sounded so hopeful, despite the grim prognosis. It tore at his heart.

“Barring that.”

Trowa reached for his hand. Quatre met him halfway. “Time is relative,” Trowa said softly, rubbing Quatre’s thumb with his own. He shook his head and smiled sadly. “We’ve been in love with each other for years. I might have more time than you, but I’d like to make what’s left count.”

Quatre could see the tears begin to form in Trowa’s eyes. So intelligent, so astute, so kind, and so very hopelessly in love. They were both such hopeless romantics. Always had been.

Quatre shifted, freeing his other hand enough to reach out to Trowa and gently wipe away a tear that threatened to fall. Trowa smiled in loving appreciation of the gesture. He took Quatre’s free hand in his own and kissed it. “If nothing can save you,” Trowa said quietly, looking down into Quatre’s big blue eyes. “I want to at least be able to remember you as my husband.”

Quatre smiled. Trowa might be a bigger romantic than he was. “I love you, Trowa,” he said softly.

Trowa continued to look back at him. “I love you too.”

“Even with that hair,” Quatre teased before slipping his hand away from Trowa’s and once more shoving Trowa’s caramel colored mess of hair away.

Trowa smiled and coughed a bittersweet laugh at Quatre’s good-natured playfulness. The love of his life might be dying, but at least it hadn’t changed his personality.

“Anyway,” Trowa said, clearing his throat. “Did you talk to your lawyer?”

“Yeah. He’ll be over a few days after the wedding to reaffirm my will and all that.”

“He feels better, knowing it’s not changing?”

“Yes and no.” Trowa gave Quatre a quizzical expression. “It’s the same with one exception,” Quatre replied, holding up a finger.

“Which is?”

“Rashid might still be in charge of me, but I’ve added that you and he need to agree on anything you might need to decide on. If you don’t…”

“Quatre…” Trowa started to say. Quatre shook his head. He knew Trowa was going to try to talk him out of this new addendum.

“Everything else is staying the same. This isn’t about what comes _after_. This is about medical decisions. Rashid is still in charge of me unless you two disagree.”

“If…?” Trowa couldn’t finish the question.

“If a decision needs to be made and you disagree, you outrank him. Your decision is my decision.”

Quatre could see Trowa process the directive he’d just laid down. Trowa had insisted on not knowing what was in his will. He hadn’t wanted to think about it. Didn’t want anyone to think he was marrying the wealthy, terminal, Winner heir for his hundreds of millions of dollars of net worth.

Trowa’s decision had been emotional, not financial. He’d been staunchly adamant about Quatre re-notarizing his will to stay the same, even after their marriage.

Quatre could see the thoughts racing through Trowa’s head. Could see him processing, digesting. Eventually, Trowa found his voice again. “Why,” he asked in confusion. “We both know what you do and don’t want. You’ve made your wishes abundantly clear.”

Quatre glanced down at the sofa fabric. He’d trusted Rashid for well over fifteen years. To him, the man was a mentor, a confidante, a guardian...a father. No one had been surprised when Quatre had turned over his power of attorney to him.

Quatre looked back into Trowa’s eyes. Those gorgeous, penetrating eyes. He’d been captivated by them since the first time they’d met. “He’s not as strong as you.”

Trowa’s expression turned from sad and confused to shock. “Say what?” Quatre smiled in amusement. That was a phrase Trowa typically heard _him_ say. Even after all these years, they still mimicked some of each other’s mannerisms.

“He’s not,” he told Trowa with a gentle shake of his head. “If something off the wall happens and the decision to let me go happens sooner than anticipated or…” He glanced up at the ceiling and shrugged before looking back to Trowa. “I dunno, something.” He sighed. “I’m just not convinced Rashid won’t want to hold on to false hope.”

“And you think I won’t?” Trowa asked. Quatre could hear the affront in his voice. Trowa’s brows knit together in displeasure and a frown threatened to pull at his mouth.

Quatre shook his head. When he spoke next, his voice was soft and disarming. He didn’t want to upset Trowa, but he had to understand this part. “You can compartmentalize better than he can.”

The frown no longer threatened but arose in all its power. Trowa looked thoroughly perturbed, unsure of whether he should be offended or proud. “Quatre…”

“You were willing to sacrifice your life to restore my sanity once, Trowa.” Quatre interrupted. “In doing so, you saved my soul. I told you that once before. I still believe that. You knew it would cost you, yet you still did it. It’s who you are, how you’re wired, and it’s one of the things that I admire and love about you. If something happens and a medical decision needs to be made and you and Rashid disagree, I expect you to do what needs to be done. I expect you to separate your hopes and what you want from the reality of the situation and what I’ve made clear. Do you understand me?”

Trowa turned his head away, back to the ceiling. Tears threatened to spill down his face again. He closed his eyes tight, unable to look Quatre in the eye. His throat constricted and his stomach turned itself into knots. They were getting married tomorrow. He didn’t want to plan Quatre’s end.

“Trowa.”

Trowa nodded. “Fine,” he said, forcing the words to come out. “But don’t expect it to be easy.”

“Trowa,” Quatre cooed soothingly. Reluctantly, Trowa looked back down into Quatre’s pretty face. “I expect nothing less from you.” Slowly, Trowa nodded his consent.

Quatre smiled in sympathy. They both knew it hadn’t been easy for him to make the demand and that it was equally difficult for Trowa to agree to it, having to accept all the possibilities that came with it. “Still want to marry me?”

Trowa laughed, half choking as he turned his head away and looked away in mock anger. “You’re such an ass.”

“But you still love me.” Trowa could hear the smile in Quatre’s voice.

“Against my better judgment.” Quatre gave him a playful whack on his arm. “Ow.”

Trowa turned over, wrapped his arms around Quatre and pulled him in close. He pressed their heads together. “I’m glad you said yes,” he whispered quietly. “I just wished I’d asked sooner.”

Tears he hadn’t realized had formed fell from the corners of his eyes. Quatre brought his hands up and framed Trowa’s face, gently wiping his tears away again. Quatre’s eyes were bright and clear, focused. Like he knew something Trowa didn’t.

“You’ll be okay,” Quatre told him quietly. “Allah does not burden a soul beyond that which it can bear.”

“Where did that come from?”

Quatre shrugged. “Sometimes I remember some of the Quran,” he answered dismissively. “It’s sweet...if a bit misguided, but I figure if it makes people feel better…”

Trowa coughed another weak laugh. “You say things like that, yet you’re such a skeptic.”

“So were you the last time I knew.”

Then it was Trowa’s turn to shrug. “I don’t know, Quatre,” he replied. “After all we’ve been through…” He looked back up to the ceiling in contemplation, then looked back down at his soon-to-be-husband. “Our odds were so slim.”

“We were lucky,” Quatre said. “We had vastly superior suits and a lot of help.”

Trowa shook his head. “We can’t have been _that_ lucky.”

Realization slowly dawned on Quatre. His eyes got bigger in shock and his mouth dropped open to form a silent ‘Oh’. He smiled and his eyes sparkled, looking very much like the cat who caught the bird. “ _Really?_ ” he asked in disbelief. “You’re religious?”

Trowa grinned in embarrassment and started to roll away before Quatre pulled him back. “I knew you’d laugh,” he said with a smile.

“I’m not laughing.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Okay, I’m not laughing that much,” Quatre argued. They looked at each other like a pair of girls sharing a juicy secret. “You just never mentioned it since you’ve been here. It surprised me is all.”

Trowa brushed the hair out of Quatre’s eyes. “We’ve had more pressing concerns.”

“We’re getting married,” Quatre deadpanned. “Religion is typically something that comes up.”

Trowa shrugged again. “It’s not like I’m Catholic.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“When?”

Quatre nodded and snuggled against him. “We haven’t been together for years. Things were bound to change. But now you have to fill me in.”

Trowa kissed the top of Quatre’s head and wrapped him in his arms. His long fingers danced across Quatre’s back, tracing gentle, invisible lines along his body.

“Kathy started going after moving into the area. She didn’t know anyone besides me and started to go to this church. She’d been gradually moving in that direction for years, I think.” He took a breath. “Anyway, she’d come back and talk about it. Some things are…” He shook his head.

“Jesus as a divine being?” Quatre asked mockingly. “Turning water into wine. Walking on water.”

Trowa harrumphed. “Yes, like that.” He started tickling Quatre’s sides. Quatre shrieked and laughed as he flailed, trying to pull out of Trowa’s arms.

Eventually, Trowa stopped and Quatre’s breathing returned to normal. “You know the Quran accepts Jesus as one of Allah’s prophets,” Quatre offered.

“I think I did know that,” Trowa replied. “I think Ahmed told me that once.”

“He would know,” Quatre agreed. “Jesus was seen as an important teacher of Allah, though he was not considered divine, and Muhammad is His premier prophet, according to Islam.”

“Such different cultures with so many things in common, yet so many differences.”

“Abrahamic religions,” Quatre muttered. “And they all argue and fight among themselves. So much war between them.”

“Religion is power,” Trowa agreed. “I dunno, it’s just...the things Cathy would say just...got me thinking about all the times we should have died.” Trowa reached out his hand to Quatre who met him halfway, twining their fingers together. “Heero, you, me.”

“We had superior suits,” Quatre said gently.

“I know.”

“Not to brag, but we _were_ superior pilots. Few could keep up with us.”

Trowa shook his head. “It’s not just that, Quatre,” Trowa disagreed. “No one else would have lived through blowing themselves up like he did.”

Trowa was referring to Heero’s self-detonation and attempted suicide after the OZ group threatened to drop a colony onto Earth if they didn’t surrender. The action had left Heero alive, but in a coma for a month and had led to the eventual surrender of the five scientists, dubbed “The Mad Five”, that had built the Gundams.

At the time, Quatre and Duo had both believed Heero to be dead. They’d fled to the Maguanac’s base in the desert to regroup and plan their next move. Oz had found them there as well and they’d had to flee once more. It had been a difficult time for them all.

Quatre looked into Trowa’s thoughtful green eyes. “Trowa…”

“It’s not just Heero,” Trowa insisted. “It’s you. It’s me. You’ve never been able to remember how you got out of that shuttle you left Earth in and into that old mobile suit your sister found you in. She said you would have died if they hadn’t found you when they had.”

“You can’t possibly think that…”

Trowa scoffed. “Of course not.”

“Odds are, someone put me in there,” Quatre offered gently. “I don’t…”

“It’s…all of it Quatre!” Trowa argued. “No one can explain how I survived the Vayeate explosion.” Quatre dropped his gaze to the bed, but Trowa curled a finger under his chin and forced him to look at him. “Everything’s fine in the end,” he reassured him. “I’m just saying...I’m just no longer sure all that was just luck.”

Quatre tilted his head to the side slightly, considering Trowa for a long while. Trowa’s eyes were bright. They sparkled and it made his heart glad. Trowa had grown up just as roughly, if not more so than Heero had. Raised a soldier from the time he was born, always running from the enemy, always fighting to stay alive. The guy deserved to find solace somewhere.

“I don’t know, Quatre,” Trowa said softly. “Maybe I’m kidding myself. Maybe I’m just hedging my bets.”

“That’s not the worst thing you could do,” Quatre interrupted with a smile.

Trowa grinned. “I don’t have the answers.” He shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t expect to. I guess...I’m just trying to find out.”

“You sound like Abdul,” Quatre told him softly.

“You don’t mind?” Trowa asked with more than a little trepidation.

Quatre threw his head back and laughed. “Of course not,” he answered. “All the Maguanacs are Muslim. Relena and Heero are both Catholic.”

“I remember that wedding,” Trowa said.

“So many people have multi-religion families. My sisters are prime examples.” Quatre looked up into Trowa’s eyes and gave him a lopsided shrug. “So long as your religion doesn’t demand that you hate other people...I’m not going to care.”

Trowa leaned his head close to Quatre’s. Quatre closed his eyes and smiled, causing him to scrunch his nose. Trowa kissed his forehead, then the bridge of his nose, then finally his lips. Quatre reached his hand around Trowa’s head and ran his hand through Trowa’s caramel colored hair.

A knock on the door broke them apart and Trowa was quick to make sure they were still covered before the door to the adjoining sitting room opened. They could hear someone step inside.

“Not to interrupt, but…”

Quatre smiled at Abdul’s tentative voice. Quatre’s eyes rolled to stare at the ceiling. “What would make you think you’re interrupting anything?” Quatre asked loudly. Trowa looked down at the blanket covers and smiled, trying not to laugh.

They could both imagine Abdul throwing his hands away from his sides. “Just a guess,” came the answer from the safety of the other room.

Trowa rolled over as he started to lose it. Quatre giggled and leaned over, covering Trowa’s mouth and trying to silently shush him. “What do you want?” Quatre called over his shoulder, trying harder than he really should have to sound like they hadn’t been doing anything.

“Breakfast is ready and, Master Quatre, Iria’s rather adamant about making sure you eat.”

Trowa managed to get out from under Quatre’s hands. “We’ll be right there,” he threw in Abdul’s direction. They heard the man walk back to the door and close it behind him. Trowa rolled back towards Quatre, reaching out to tickle him some more. “Here that, we have to go,” he said as Quatre tried to swat his hands away.

He wasn’t successful and Trowa had his arms wrapped around Quatre once again, his hands easily finding Quatre’s ticklish areas. Trowa started kissing Quatre's skin, making his way lower while he tickled Quatre's sides. Quatre yelped and threw his head back and laughed. “I will push you off the bed!”

***

Quatre sat on a chair against the wall, sipping tea from a Turkish tea cup as he watched the servants bustle about as they got the outdoor reception area ready for tomorrow. The tables had white tablecloths with champagne-colored trim. The backs on chairs were adorned with bows, alternating in color between peach and a soft, ocean spray blue.

“Got nothing better to do?” Wufei’s mild voice sounded next to him. Quatre smiled and looked up. The guy was a picture of an academic in his long, slender black and gold Chinese tunic and delicate wire-rimmed glasses.

“Not really,” he replied. “Want some tea?”

“Sure.”

Quatre, sitting with his legs curled like a pretzel on the chair carefully tucked his own cup in his lap before leaning to the side and pouring a second cup.

“Thanks,” Wufei said gratefully as Quatre handed it over.

Quatre picked his cup up and said “Cheers”. They clinked glasses.

“What _are_ you doing?”

Quatre shrugged. “I like watching them work,” he answered, indicating the workers with a wave of his tea. “Not sure why.”

“You’re used to being the boss,” Wufei commented.

Quatre had been about to take a sip of the tea when he said that. He chuckled. “Except my memory is bad these days,” he corrected Wufei. “I know they included me in the decision making, but do I remember any of it?”

“Nope.”

“Nope,” Quatre mimicked. “So you might want to adjust your hypothesis. Though I must say, whoever chose the colors did a good job.”

“You know you have three identical shades of blue, right?”

“I do not.” Wufei looked down at him with a dubious expression. “They’re not,” Quatre insisted. “They’re three different shades of blue in a gradient scale; ocean spray, garden club, and mystique blue, and two neutral colors; champagne and peach...something...peachy whatever it is.”

“Your colors are light blue and peach.”

“I have three different shades of blue,” Quatre argued with a smile. “I’m gay and I can tell the difference.”

Wufei stared at the workers blankly. “Did you seriously just…”

“I did, so get out of my wheelhouse.”

Wufei kept his mouth shut and they both snickered in amusement. “It was you and Jeyda, by the way,” Wufei said after a while. “Trowa mentioned it.”

Quatre raised his eyebrows and sipped his tea. “We have good taste.”

“Rashid’s looking for you.”

Quatre startled. “You couldn’t tell me that sooner?”

Wufei shrugged. “We were chatting.”

Quatre pulled out his cell phone. Sure enough, he’d missed a call. He texted Rashid back. “He can come find me.”

“Well,” Wufei said, walking over and setting down his empty cup. “I’m done being a carrier pigeon. I’ll see you later.”

Quatre half-turned in his direction as Wufei started to leave. “You should suck it up and put a ring on that lady’s finger,” he said. Wufei paused and looked down at him with an almost imperceptible smile.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” They stared at each other knowingly. Wufei and Sally had never explicitly admitted to being romantically involved, but everyone had long known that those two were more than just work partners.

Wufei started to walk away.

“It’s not as scary as it sounds!” Quatre called after him. Wufei waved him away as he left.

“Coward,” Quatre muttered in mock irritation. Whether they got married or not, Sally and Wufei were a good match. She truly _got_ him, more than he and Duo ever would, he thought. It put his heart at ease. He smiled.

***  
By mid-day Quatre’s headache had arrived. Quatre took a tramadol. His doctor had upped his dosage since Rashid had informed him he’d been taking two at a time. The higher dosage had been working better than taking two, but it didn’t completely alleviate his headaches.

The rehearsal dinner was scheduled to start at four-thirty, so Quatre had escaped to his room for a nap. He woke up to a tingling sensation in his feet. He frowned as he wiggled his toes. He could see them move. They didn’t look like anything was wrong with them. He sighed. This was not a good time to lose his ability to walk.

Quatre twisted and reached for his cell. It was ten ‘til four. He needed more time.

He dialed Trowa’s number. It took a few rings, but he eventually picked up. “Quatre?”

Quatre could hear other voices in the background. They were likely waiting for him to come down so they could get started. Guilt turned his stomach into a rock. What if he couldn’t come down? What if stalling for time didn’t work?

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Thinking like that wouldn’t get him anywhere. Before he went to worst-case scenarios he first had to see if his legs would come back.

“Is everyone there?” he asked through the lump in his throat.

“Just about,” Trowa answered. His voice sounded so clear and vibrant...healthy. Quatre had to squeeze his eyes shut to hold back tears. “Are you alright?”

Quatre could hear the concern creep into Trowa’s voice. Like Rashid, he knew when he was ‘off’. Quatre looked down at his feet and tried to wiggle his toes. They didn’t move.

Fear plunged through him, like a drowning man in the waves of a hurricane. Quickly, he put a hand over his mouth to keep a scared sob from escaping. He closed his eyes tighter as angry tears ran down his cheeks.

“Quatre?”

Quatre’s eyes flew open, realizing that he’d taken too long to answer. He took a steadying breath to get himself under control, he couldn’t afford any more than that. “Can we push the time back?” he asked, praying that he sounded better than he felt.

“Sure,” Trowa answered. Trowa’s voice dimmed. “You guys okay to hang out for a bit longer?” Indistinct voices answered and Trowa’s voice returned to its normal volume. “Yeah, they’re fine. You okay?”

“Just more tired than I expected,” Quatre lied. “I think I just need a bit more rest.”

“Alright. Need me to wake you up?”

“I set an alarm.”

“Okay. We’ll be around. Call if you need me.”

“Thanks,” Quatre said quietly before hanging up. At least he sounded stronger than he felt. It was a miracle he hadn’t fallen apart. He dropped the phone on the bed and laid back down, pulled the covers over his head, and cried.

***

Trowa stared at the phone in surprise. Quatre had hung up on him before he’d been able to say anything else. It wasn’t like him to do that. He could feel eyes on him. He looked up. Rashid was staring at him, concern plainly written on his face.

Most everyone had gathered outside at the reflecting pool in front of the Commander’s mansion. The ceremony would be out front by the pool while the reception was in the back. A simple enough arrangement to accommodate the sudden event as well as having been designed to limit Quatre’s fatigue.

Trowa half-turned, looking at the mansion behind him. Quatre was in there, in his room, alone. He’d sounded odd on the phone. A nagging sensation began to form in the back of his head, warning him that something wasn’t right. He felt Rashid come to his side. They looked at each other.

“Everything alright?” Rashid’s strong voice asked in a hushed tone.

Trowa thought for a minute. He had the overwhelming feeling that Quatre shouldn’t be alone right now. He might just need more rest like he’d said, but that didn’t mean that Trowa couldn’t be with him while he did.

“I’m going to go check on him.”

Rashid frowned. “Something wrong?”

“He just sounded...off,” Trowa replied thoughtfully. “I’ll call if he needs anything,” he promised, then turned away and left.

By the time he’d reached Quatre’s bedroom hallway, Trowa was jogging, trying not to completely panic and break into a run. Quatre needed him. He could feel it in his very core and, considering Quatre’s condition, that feeling terrified him.

When he reached Quatre’s sitting room door, he pressed an ear against the warm wood. He didn’t hear anything, Maybe Quatre really had fallen back asleep.

Gently, Trowa let himself in, closing the door quietly behind him so as not to instigate a headache for Quatre if he was still awake. He had almost reached the bedroom door when he heard Quatre crying.

In an instant, he rushed to Quatre’s side. What looked like Quatre’s side anyway. It was hard to tell how he was positioned when he was buried under so many blankets. Trowa carefully sat on the edge of the bed. “Hey,” he soothed, slowly peeling back the covers from Quatre’s face.

Quatre looked up at him with a red-rimmed eye. The rest of his face was buried in a pillow. “What’s wrong?” Trowa asked, brushing Quatre’s long bangs away from his face.

It took Quatre a long moment before he could work up the ability to answer. “I’m scared,” Quatre admitted hoarsely. His voice was strained and barely audible. “I don’t want to die.”

Trowa’s face fell and his soul hurt. Such a helpless, pitiful admission from the man he loved almost stole the strength from him. This was the first time Quatre had even hinted at fear or non-acceptance of his fate. They were getting married and Quatre wanted to live.

“Hey, hey,” he cooed soothingly. He smiled, even as his heart cried with Quatre. “You don’t need to worry about that right now. You have a wedding to rehearse for.”

“You should reconsider,” Quatre replied sullenly. “I’m a waste of time.”

“Having second thoughts?” Trowa teased. “Thinking about leaving me?”

Quatre smiled and chuckled a wet laugh. “The thought crossed my mind,” he said. “Though it’s not like I can hike up my dress and abandon you at the altar.”

Trowa laughed and so did Quatre, in spite of his tears. “You were never this funny when we first met,” Trowa said as Quatre wiped away his tears and sat up.

Quatre shrugged. “Duo wore off on me.”

Trowa’s smile was genuine as Quatre’s humor started to come back. “He prides himself on that. You know that, right?” Quatre coughed another wet laugh and nodded.

Trowa shifted closer and framed Quatre’s face in his hands, forcing him to look into his eyes. “We’re going to get through this,” he told him. Quatre’s eyes were red and puffy from crying. For the first time since the news had come out that he was dying, Quatre truly looked defeated. “We will,” he promised. “Together.”

“Until I leave.”

Trowa shook his head. “Don’t think about that. Not yet. Okay?” Quatre nodded. Trowa released Quatre’s face and leaned back, giving him some room. “Feel better?”

Quatre shifted beside him, his legs and feet moving around as if to wake them up after falling asleep. Quatre looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes. More tears fell, but it wasn’t fear or desperation that appeared on Quatre’s face, but relief. Trowa thought that a little odd. His pep talk hadn’t been _that_ good.

Quatre looked at him, smiled, and nodded. Trowa reached forward and tenderly wiped away his tears before pulling him in close. “Just try to enjoy right now,” Trowa said. Quatre’s arms wrapped around him tightly, holding on as if his life depended on it. “We’ll deal with tomorrow when it comes.”

***

“I feel ridiculous.”

Quatre sat on the island counter in Commander Sada Ul’s private kitchen, holding a cold spoon over each eye.

“You _look_ ridiculous,” Trowa said as he leaned against the wall opposite him, watching in amusement.

“Thanks, jerk.”

“Hey, you were the one who complained about your eyes being puffy. I’m just solving the problem.”

Quatre took the spoons away from his eyes and glared at him. Trowa pushed himself away from the wall and walked forward, grabbing Quatre’s hands and putting the spoons back over his eyes.

“Keep them there,” he chastised. “You grew up in a house full of sisters, shouldn’t you know this?”

“I left home before we could all get our hearts broken and cry over boyfriends,” Quatre deadpanned.

Quatre could feel Trowa’s smile, even if he couldn’t see it. “It’s not like Rashid raised girls,” he added defensively. “He wouldn’t know either.”

Trowa didn’t say anything, though he could feel him shift in front of him. Quatre paused for a moment.

“My gay card just got downgraded didn’t it?”

“Just a little.” Quatre could hear the amused smirk in Trowa’s voice.

Quatre lowered the spoons again. He opened his mouth with the beginnings of a retort but failed. Trowa raised his eyebrows and Quatre obediently put the spoons back. “Does Cathy ever tell you you’re annoying?”

“Stubborn and frustrating are typically the words she uses,” Trowa replied nonchalantly. He dug his phone out of his pocket and pulled up the camera function.

“You’re not taking a picture are you?” Quatre asked suspiciously.

“I really should,” Trowa said as if he were considering it. He pressed the button.

“You’re sleeping in the other room.”

Trowa laughed and put his phone away. “I’m sleeping with Heero tonight, so that threat is rather empty.”

Quatre took the spoons away and glared at him again. “You say that like I should be concerned,” he said suspiciously.

Trowa smiled that cocky smile of his. “If we were anything like you and Duo, you should be.” Quatre looked at Trowa questioningly. “Your bromance is adorable.”

“You’re annoying.”

“Come here,” Trowa said, indicating Quatre to lean forward, which he did. Trowa framed Quatre’s face once again with his hands, looking closely at Quatre’s eyes. “You’ll be fine,” he said, releasing Quatre. “You’ll just look a little tired.”

“I’ll take it.”

Trowa stepped back and helped Quatre get down from the island counter. They left the kitchen together, holding hands as two spoons were left abandoned in the sink.

***

Quatre slowly walked into his bedroom alone. Trowa was with Heero for the night and he was tired. The rehearsal had taken longer than he’d expected. Halfway through his head had started pounding, enough to chase away his appetite over dinner. He’d hardly eaten anything.

He held his head as he changed into loose, comfy pants and a t-shirt. His pants hung low and his shirt threatened to look over-large. Quatre mussed up his hair in frustration. He might have to get new clothes soon. All of his were getting too big.

He walked over to his bedside drawer and popped a tramadol. His feet hadn’t stopped tingling either, though he’d retained the ability to move them. His feet concerned him. They hadn’t ever tingled this long before and coupled with the loss of movement earlier…

A knock on the door startled him.

He looked into the sitting room, toward the door that led to the hallway in confusion. He dropped the pill bottle back into the drawer and closed it before walking over and opening it.

He let out a surprised cry, backpedaling as fast as his weak legs could go as a tall, handsome man sashayed his way through his door.

A well muscled, dusky tan chest, absent of any hair, and glistening under the sitting room lights, took up Quatre’s entire field of vision.

Quatre looked up to find a tease of facial hair dusting the upper lip of the man’s clean-shaven face. Dark coffee colored eyes were rimmed with black and gold makeup that sparkled with glitter that matched the arm and wristbands the man wore. A smokey black head scarf wrapped fashionably around his head, then ends whipping about behind him like a romanticized version of a pirate as he twirled and danced his way further into Quatre’s sitting room

He sparkled as he moved. A silk hip scarf with jingling coins also matched the man’s black and gold theme. The scarf drew attention to his hard abs, thin waist, and black pants that were tight at the top and flowy at the ankles.

The guy was a bellydancer.

He smiled an exotic smile as he followed Quatre’s backpedaling, his hips shimmying, accentuated with sensual body rolls and small, sharp hip pops.

Quatre reactively held out his hands to stop the guy from coming any further. When the man’s chest met his outstretched palms, the slickness of the oil and body glitter caused him to jump back in surprise. He nearly fell over.

“Why are you sticky?!”

The bellydancer paused, looking abashed at the less than entertained reception from his audience of one. He held his hands out from the sides. “It’s body oil, honey. If it was all sweat, I wouldn’t smell this good.”

Quatre chuckled awkwardly, holding out a hand and a finger, indicating that his unexpected guest should stay where he was. He carefully maneuvered around the guy, making sure there was plenty of distance between each other.

The belly dancer, who Quatre had to admit was deliciously gorgeous, stared at him in disbelief. Quatre figured the guy rarely got turned away from a job once he was present. At the very least, his friends had done a good job in picking him. They were right. He _did_ have a type.

He peered out into the hall as the door was still open. He looked one way and then another. “Come on, guys!” he whined. He thought he saw Jeyda’s blonde hair and Duo’s trademark braid duck around a corner. “You’re not funny!”

He heard them try to stifle their laughter.

Quatre sighed and turned back to the belly dancer, who was now standing in the middle of the room, hands planted sassily on his hips. “You know, most people get excited when I walk into a room.”

Quatre nearly melted. His voice was sweet but strong, confident, and dusky with an exotic lilt. That voice pulled at his ears and sent a shudder down his spine. Quatre silently chastised himself for the reaction, not that he could really help it. They really had chosen well.

Quatre opened his mouth and held up a finger like a lecturing schoolmarm. Nothing came out.

He tried again.

“I’m sure...that’s true. You’re easy on the eyes, I’ll give you that,” he agreed distractedly. He forced himself to look at his face, not any other body part.

“But here’s the thing,” he said as he moved toward his bedroom. Right inside the bedroom doorway was his wallet, sitting on top of the dresser. He opened it, leafing through the bills. He grabbed several and walked back over. “I have brain cancer and a migraine.”

The belly dancer’s face fell. “Oh, honey.”

“I didn’t tell you that to make you feel bad for me,” Quatre explained. “I’m tired. Just getting through a day is getting harder and I have a big day ahead tomorrow.”

Quatre held out the money to him. Over a thousand euros.

The belly dancer crossed his well-defined arms and raised a smoky eyebrow. “I’m a dancer, honey. Not a hooker.”

Quatre smiled politely. “I never thought you were. You’re attractive, I’ll admit, and it seems a very talented dancer.” He flicked his head in the direction of his meddling sister and troublesome best friend. “And they’ve had their fun.”

Quatre offered the money again. Which the belly dancer looked at suspiciously. “Take this for your trouble and do me a favor.”

The belly dancer raised his other eyebrow to join the first.

“Go give them a taste of their own medicine. Duo could use some cultural education.”

The belly dancer smiled and laughed. He stepped forward, took the money, pressed his cheek against Quatre’s and gave him a chaste kiss. “Allah yashfeek,” he said. “Allah, heal you.” He stepped back and squeezed Quatre’s hands briefly before turning to leave.

“Shukran,” Quatre replied quietly. He looked down at the floor, then the belly dancer’s retreating figure. “Salaam.”

At the doorway, the dancer turned around and smiled. “Salaam,” he replied and left, hip scarf jingling as he went. Quatre heard the jingling recede and then Jeyda and Duo’s voices shout in surprise.

Quatre smiled as he closed the door behind him, muffling the jingling coins and shrieks of laughter as it seemed that the dancer was indeed putting on his show for his new audience.

Quatre chuckled to himself as he walked back to the bedroom. His amusement faded with every step he took, however. The belly dancer had distracted him from the tingling in his legs, but now it seemed to be back with a vengeance. His legs felt like they were weighted down while simultaneously trying to walk under water. He frowned with concern.

And then he stumbled.

His left foot dragged like it didn’t want to come off the ground. His heart raced with fear as he worked to keep himself from falling over completely. He reached out, hoping to make it to the bed, but the leg didn’t hold his weight. He twisted as he fell, trying to launch himself at the bed in a last, desperate effort to land somewhere soft.

Instead, he fell with a loud thud in the middle of the room, out of reach of anything. Quatre looked down at his legs. Tears of anger leaked from his eyes and fell, soaking into the carpet underneath him. He tried to move his legs, but nothing happened. They stayed where they were, like mannequin legs, solid, but immobile. The tingling was still there though. It had risen past his knees.

Quatre squeezed his eyes shut and slammed his fist against the floor. He’d known this was a possibility. Loss of motor control, loss of bodily functions...It was all within the scope of what _could_ happen before his body finally failed and shut down. He’d hoped to avoid that shame.

“This isn’t supposed to happen!”

His tears fell, hot and large, from a wellspring of despair. Quatre gritted his teeth and looked up at the ceiling. “We made almost _all_ cancer chronic,” he yelled. “And we’re so close with the rest! You gave _kids_ cancer! You did that! We beat it! We saved their lives! Not you!”

Quatre hung his head and sobbed. “I know I’ve killed innocent people. I know I don’t deserve the life I’ve had,” he cried. “But I’ve done a lot of good too. I’ve tried to make penance. I’ve tried to use my influence for the betterment of others. So why are you doing this to me?!”

Anger and the unfairness of it all rushed over him like a tsunami. It had built up over time the same way a large wave would build following an earthquake.

“If you want to take my life, just take it! Don’t tear me down to nothing, you sick son of a bitch!”

And just like that, the anger was gone and he deflated. All that pent-up emotion exploding out of him left him exhausted. “What kind of God are you?” he asked helplessly.

Rashid’s voice filtered into his ears as if he were standing next to him. “It may be that God will generate love between you and those of them with you are now at enmity. God is capable of all things, Quatre. God is forgiving and merciful.”

“You don’t believe in coincidences,” Quatre whispered. He remembered Rashid telling him once when they were reminiscing about how they’d met. That fateful first encounter with the Maguanacs had altered his whole life.

His attitude, his morality, his future...Meeting Rashid all those years ago had been a catalyst that had led to peace. It had led him to Trowa.

All the Maguanacs were Muslim. They all had turned to God when they felt they needed help.

Rashid had always told him that “Having Allah on your side does not mean sailing in an ocean with no waves. It means sailing in a ship that no storm can sink.”

Quatre sighed. Science hadn’t worked so far. He was dying. He was getting worse. What else did he have to lose?

Quatre leaned forward and placed his hands on his feet and quietly began praying.


	6. Chapter 6

Quatre opened his eyes as he drifted into wakefulness. He stared at the side of the bed. _Oh, right,_ he thought, remembering the night before. His ability to move his legs hadn’t returned, leaving him without any other option than to sleep where he’d fallen.

Quatre pushed himself into a sitting position, his legs sprawled out beneath him. He could see over the side of the bed. The bright morning sunshine filtered into the room through the curtains. He looked down at his traitorous limbs. Tentatively, he tried to move a leg.

And it did.

His knee tented. Slowly, the other followed. No tingling, no lack of control. Quatre tried moving his toes. They wiggled, curled, and stretched. Everything seemed normal.

Quatre flopped backward onto the soft carpet as relief washed over him. He felt deflated, spent, like a balloon that had lost its buoyancy, even as he felt whole again. For the time being, he’d been fixed.

He covered his eyes with the heels of his hands, stemming the tears that threatened to fall. Today was a big day, he couldn’t afford anything to appear less than normal.

The door to his sitting room opened. Quatre dropped his hands away from his face and propped himself up back into a sitting position so he could see who was coming in. He suspected Rashid or one of the other Maguanac captains, maybe even his sister Iria. His heart rate quickened as he reached for the bed. He couldn’t have anyone suspecting that he might be getting worse.

“Quatre?” Heero’s voice carried into the bedroom.

Quatre managed to push himself to his knees. He could hear Heero getting closer as he carefully pushed himself to his feet, testing his strength as he went. When he was finally steady without holding onto the bed for support, he looked towards the doorway. Heero was leaning casually against the open doorway.

“You fell again?” Heero asked. His voice was so matter-of-fact. So clinical. His eyes were hard. Quatre couldn’t read him.

Quatre met his gaze evenly. “I’m fine.”

“Is that why your bed hasn’t been slept in?”

Quatre forced his expression to remain neutral, using all the experience he’d gained from convincing less than willing board members of his position. “Heero, I’m fine.”

“You’re a bad liar,” Heero accused. “Don’t you think you’ve hidden the extent of your condition enough?”

They stared at each other for a long while. Heero patiently waiting for Quatre to drop his act while Quatre himself stubbornly refused to fold under Heero’s scrutiny. Eventually, Heero acquiesced.

“Trowa and Wufei went to wake up Duo. The girls are getting ready downstairs.”

Heero pushed himself off the doorway and made to leave. He paused, a hand on the door latch, and looked back to Quatre once more. “You should stop lying to him,” Heero said before opening the door and leaving.

Quatre closed his eyes and hung his head in guilt.

***

Quatre and Heero stood close together, each holding a champagne flute filled with bubbly. Heero’s was alcoholic. Quatre’s was not. Neither of them mentioned their interaction earlier in the day.

“You’re going to have to keep an eye on him,” Quatre said quietly as he watched Trowa across the room. His new husband was sitting in a chair, showing off magic tricks for the children. Duo Jr. and Cora sat front and center, surrounded by the children of Quatre’s sisters. “Rashid said he would too, but still...you’re his best friend. He listens to you.”

Heero followed Quatre’s gaze, also watching Trowa. The tall brunette was smiling as he made a napkin disappear. The delighted voices of the children screeched in excitement. Trowa had always been a show-off.

“I’ll make sure he’s okay.”

Quatre smiled slightly, his lips fluttering in a bittersweet smile. “Duo too,” he added.

Heero turned to Quatre. “Are you going to ask me to mind the whole store?”

“Would you?” Quatre asked him, half-turning to face his friend. Heero gave him a sideways glance that spoke volumes. Quatre chuckled. “It was worth a shot,” he said mildly before taking a sip from his glass. His eyes scanned the room. Duo and Hilde were dancing together out on the floor, enjoying the reprieve Trowa was giving them from their exuberant son.

“But seriously,” Quatre pressed. “He’s impulsive. He gets excited and doesn’t think things through. Hilde has her hands full with Little Duo and her attention can only be in so many places at once. Duo will need some looking after, from more than just his wife.”

“So do you,” Heero countered mildly.

“We aren’t talking about me, now are we?” Quatre replied in kind.

Heero shrugged. “Just saying...Anyway, are you sure you should be asking me?”

Quatre paused and thought about it for half a moment. “Well, you do tend to get into most of the trouble with him,” Quatre thought, mostly to himself. “Like Italy.”

“Italy was Wufei.”

Quatre opened his mouth and took a breath before pausing as he remembered. “Oh yeah…That was Wufei.”

Right after Quatre’s high school graduation, they’d gone as a group, traveling around Italy. During the particular point in question, Wufei had gotten them lost after taking a wrong turn off the highway. They’d wound up in the middle of the Italian countryside. Beautiful, but not anywhere near where they were supposed to be.

Only a small country home, seeming potentially abandoned had been visible. Duo, after binging on horror-thriller movies the past two nights, had immediately commentated on their impending deaths.

Quatre had found the whole misadventure rather amusing until they’d run out of gas. It had been him and Trowa who had gone over to the house to inquire for assistance. Making a cute couple, along with respectful politeness, had endeared the two of them to the elderly couple who lived there.

After helping with some mechanically inclined repairs to the home, the homesteaders had offered the five of them a warm meal, a place to sleep for the night, and a full tank of gas to get them back to where they’d needed to get to.

“I had to get us out of that mess,” Quatre said in fake irritation.

“And you did a fine job.”

“Damn right, I did.”

They smiled at each other and shared a chuckle at the memory. It had been a wonderful trip.

Cora, never one to sit still for long, ran up to her mother, demanding attention. The two began dancing together. Quatre placed a hand in a pocket as they watched the adorable pair. Cora’s big bow on her dress swung about behind her, making her seem smaller than she actually was.

“Cora’s keeping her busy.”

Heero sighed. “Yeah, I’ll have to tag her out in a few minutes.” Something caught Heero’s attention, even as Quatre watched Relena and her daughter thoughtfully.

Wufei’s hand whacked Quatre in the arm playfully as he joined them. “Trowa’s busy too,” he said, pointing in Trowa’s direction.

Quatre tore his eyes away from the two girls and in the direction Wufei had indicated. The gaggle of children had dispersed and Trowa had gotten himself surrounded by some of the Maguanacs. Everyone was smiling and seemed to be trading playful banter.

Heero excused himself and walked over to his wife and child. Quatre’s gaze drifted back to the Dorilan family as Cora threw her arms around her daddy’s neck as he picked her up.

Heero had retained the use of his codename after the war. It seemed to fit him well. Even after he’d married Relena, they’d kept their names as they had been, though Cora had been given Relena’s last name. Heero bent over and gave Relena a kiss before both parents turned their attention to the little girl in Heero’s arms.

Quatre smiled and turned his attention back to Trowa. The man was gorgeous. Slender, fit, and straight-backed. He was definitely a military man. The suit he wore was simple. White shirt, peach colored jacket and slacks to match the color scheme. He wore well made but simple leather suspenders, which Quatre found oddly attractive and a light blue tie, a subtle nod to his complementary status to Quatre.

They had designed their suits to reflect their individual tastes while still being complimentary. Trowa’s peachy color with a touch of light blue was mirrored in Quatre’s own suit. He wore the brightest of the three blues in their wedding theme, Ocean Spray, over a peach vest and no tie. They were complimentary, yet so different.

Where Trowa’s suit was simple and of classic style, Quatre’s jacket was made of intricately detailed brocade. The detail added a bit of artistic flair that was entirely Quatre’s style, without crossing the line into gaudy.

“Want to hop out back while they’re not looking?” Wufei teased quietly. Quatre tried not to laugh. That joke would be around for a while.

“Would you really?” Quatre asked.

Wufei smiled. “Figured you’d eventually not be so gullible.”

Quatre shrugged. “Hey, some straight guys like to get pegged and they don’t always care who does the pegging.”

Wufei returned his attention to Quatre. His smile had slipped away. “I don’t want to know how you know that.”

“Ask me no questions…”

“And I’ll tell you no lies,” Duo sang as he popped out of nowhere, draping an arm around both Quatre’s and Wufei’s necks. “Whatcha Y'all doin?”

Quatre smiled and indicated Wufei with a wave of his hand. “Me apparently,” Wufei replied. He sounded less than thrilled.

“Wufei’s considering going down a two-way road,” Quatre teased with a smirk.

“Shit, man,” Duo said, looking at Wufei. “Sally will have your balls for that.”

“She’s already got them,” Wufei replied nonchalantly. “So it doesn’t really matter.” Duo laughed and Quatre smiled.

“You guys are too much,” Quatre said.

“You started it.”

Quatre flicked his head in Trowa’s direction. “Do me a favor and go fetch my husband, will you?”

Duo smiled. “You really just wanted to say that, didn’t you?” Wufei asked with a smile of his own.

Quatre’s eyes crinkled at the corners in amusement. “I really did,” he confessed.

“Trowa!” Duo hollered over the noise. Trowa, Quatre, and many others stopped and looked in surprise at Duo’s unexpected yelling. “Quatre’s about to start hitting on Wufei!”

Quatre glared at Duo in slight annoyance. He really hadn’t needed to shout it. From across the room, Trowa smirked. Apparently, he found it funnier than his newly wedded husband did.

“He’s too short!” Trowa yelled back. Laughter erupted from the hall as guests enjoyed the friendly banter and returned to their own devices.

Abdul called Quatre’s name, so he excused himself from his friends and walked toward Abdul. The Maguanac’s second-in-command was talking with several of his sisters, Jeyda being one of them, and was regaling them with harrowing feats on the battlefield. Quatre guessed he’d been called over to add some bit of information.

Duo and Wufei meandered on up to Trowa, who was now talking with Malcolm and Thomas. An older, respectable man in his mid-forties, Malcolm was a doctor friend of Quatre’s. He’d treated Quatre a few times in the years since their friendship began. Thomas was an old friend from his school days.They’d gone to the same high school together and had even taken several classes together at MIT.

“I was told to fetch you, but Quatre seems to have occupied himself already,” Wufei informed Trowa. His voice was bland, despite the amused smirk on his face.

“He has a tendency to do that,” Trowa said, his eyes on his husband.

Quatre looked good. He was smiling, laughing, enjoying himself. His suit fit him well, even with his weight loss. He looked thin, yes, but not sickly. They had both found that to be a relief.

Milling about with people, socializing. Quatre was in his element. The guy was a natural charmer. How Trowa had captured his attention in the first place, let alone kept it all these years, he figured he’d never know.

Duo started to say something. His voice pulled Trowa’s attention away from Quatre.

Quatre caught sight of Commander Sada Ul nearby. He politely extricated himself from Abdul’s storytelling and started to make his way toward the old man. His steps faltered. He paused, an odd expression painted on his face.

The champagne flute in his hand slipped through his fingers and shattered on the hard sandstone. The area hushed, not sure where the sound had come from.

Abdul turned toward Quatre as Quatre’s leg’s buckled. Quatre teetered for a moment, holding an arm out, reaching for something, anything, to steady himself with. But nothing was near enough and he fell. Quatre collapsed with a grotesque thud.

A chorus of frightened shouts echoed throughout the reception area. Abdul had been closest to his falling master and had been quick to respond. His knees hit the ground with a sharp pain as he caught Quatre, cushioning his fall. Quatre’s head came to rest in the crook of Abdul’s arm. Quatre’s big blue eyes stared, wide open, into nothing.

“Quatre?” Abdul yelled. He shook Quatre as hard as he dared with no response. Quatre continued to stare at nothing. He was breathing, that much was evident, but he seemed completely catatonic.

The commotion was slow to sink in for Trowa. There were so many people roaming the place, it was difficult to see who was where. At first, the sound of a glass breaking was unexpected, though not entirely alarming. People were clumsy and accidents happened, especially after several glasses of champagne.

But then Abdul’s terrified voice cried out Quatre’s name. The sound had left him immobile for what seemed like an eternity as his brain processed all the things that cry could indicate. Nothing good certainly. At the very least, Quatre was in trouble.

The color drained from Trowa’s face. “Quatre…” He turned toward the direction in which the glass had shattered and from where Abdul’s voice had traveled. He took another step. Terror found him focus.

“Quatre!” He broke into a run, rushing toward his new husband.

Heero ran in front of him, stopping his forward momentum. Crashing into his friend almost sent them both falling to the floor. Trowa struggled to untangle himself, but Heero wouldn’t let him go. Suddenly, Wufei was there too, helping to hold him back.

“Stop, Trowa! Stop!” Heero yelled in his ear.

Trowa wasn’t listening. The only thing Trowa could comprehend at this moment was that Quatre had collapsed and he wasn’t with him. He continued to struggle against his friends who continued to keep him from going to Quatre.

Heero looked over his shoulder and yelled into the crowd. “Someone get Malcolm! Get Iria!”

“Let them work on him,” Wufei said into Trowa’s ear, trying to get him to calm down.

He could hear yelling in the distance, panicked voices. Then Malcolm’s comforting baritone. Something about a bag. His medical bag. Malcolm never went anywhere without it.

The big Scotsman rushed past Trowa, who once again desperately tried to outmaneuver Heero and Wufei, but they’d been expecting it. Trowa was just as athletic as Wufei, but the Chinese man was smaller and was an expert in many different forms of martial arts. In an instant, Trowa found himself kneeling on the floor, in a locked position under both Wufei and Heero.

Like Moses parting the sea, Malcolm made his way to Quatre and knelt beside him. “Quatre?” Trowa could hear him call out Quatre’s name. Malcolm waved a hand in front of Quatre’s face, yet no reaction seemed to come from him.

Iria, Quatre’s oldest sister (and a doctor) reached him and dropped to her knees, despite the dress she wore. Her face was etched with the same fear Trowa could feel gripping his own heart.

“A seizure,” she asked, feeling Quatre’s pulse.

“Looks like,” Malcolm replied. Someone stepped forward, offering Malcolm his bag. The big man immediately went to work. “Alright,” Malcolm said to the group of people in the immediate vicinity. “Let’s turn him to his side, keep him from suffocating on himself.”

Everyone near Quatre and Abdul shifted, giving them room so Abdul, Malcolm, and Iria could safely maneuver Quatre when his voice rang out, bright and clear. “Guys?” Iria and Malcolm both smiled as Quatre returned to normal. Iria coughed back tears. Abdul stared down at his master in shock. “Why am I on the ground?”

Quatre looked at everyone hovering over him in confusion. “You had a seizure,” Malcolm explained as he looked down at his watch. “Less than thirty seconds. A bit longer than normal, but not bad.” He appraised Quatre clinically. “Think you can try to stand up?”  
“Will you let me?”

Malcolm chuckled. “We’ll stick close, come on.” The two doctors stepped back to give Quatre some room. Malcolm held out his hand. Quatre reached up and took it. With Malcolm’s strength pulling him up and forward, and Abdul making sure he didn’t fall backward, Quatre rose to his feet.

Quatre stood for a moment, testing his own strength while Abdul and Malcolm slowly released their grip on him.

“You good?” Malcolm asked.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Quatre replied. “Sorry to frighten you all.”

“Let’s leave the party tricks to Trowa,” Abdul offered, sounding less confident than his words meant to sound.

With a half-hearted struggled, Trowa twisted away from Heero and Wufei, who finally released their grip on him. Seeing Quatre up on his feet, his friends let him go. Wufei gave Heero a supportive clap on the shoulder as they followed Trowa at a distance.

“Quatre!” Trowa rushed to Quatre’s side, taking Quatre’s face in his hands. He looked searchingly into his eyes. “You alright?”

Quatre nodded. “I’m fine.”

“He had a seizure,” Malcolm said, putting his hands on his hips and half-turning to Trowa.

“We knew this would happen eventually,” Iria added. Trowa pulled Quatre into his arms and looked at Quatre’s sister. She had tears in her eyes, but her voice was clear and strong.

“I’m fine,” Quatre said again, mumbling into Trowa’s shoulder. Trowa dropped his gaze back to his beautiful husband. Quatre smiled up at him. It was thin and sad, but it was still a smile. “I’m okay.”

Trowa stared at him. They were one step closer to losing him. He didn’t want that. How could he accept that?

“There’s no immediate danger?” Heero asked, coming up behind them. Both doctors shook their heads.

“The immediate concern is during the seizure itself,” Iria explained. “Making sure he doesn’t hit his head, bite his tongue, asphyxiate...that sort of thing.”

“It seems to have been a combination of atonic and absence seizures,” Malcolm added. “They’re not all the super scary grand mal type seizures.”

“He’ll still need to get checked out by a specialist,” Iria said.

“Can it wait until tomorrow?” Quatre asked, pulling away from Trowa enough to look at her. Trowa watched Quatre, feeling a bit dazed.

Quatre was negotiating. This was the beginning of the end. Trowa’s heart lodged at the back of his throat, making it difficult to swallow. He placed his forehead on Quatre’s and closed his eyes.

“You need to be put on epileptics,” Malcolm warned in his all-business doctoral voice. “And another brain scan. We need to know how much your tumors have grown because I can guarantee you that they have.”

“Quatre,” Trowa said softly. Quatre shifted gently, trying not to dislodge Trowa from his position. Trowa opened his eyes. Quatre’s gaze met his. All the hopes, the dreams, the life they’d expected to have, flashed between them life a mental newsreel. “We have to go.”

“I know,” Quatre replied in a whisper. It was Quatre’s turn to close his eyes. “What a way to kill a party, huh?” They both smiled and laughed. Part of it was humor. Another resignation. They both knew what this meant.

“I’ll start the helicopter,” Abdul offered quietly. Quatre nodded his approval. The Maguanac bowed his head slightly in respect. He backed away several paces before turning and leaving the room.

Quatre and Trowa straightened and looked to the left. Quatre could feel Rashid’s fatherly protectiveness at his right side. In front of him stood Heero and Relena, holding Cora; Sally and Wufei; and Duo and Hilde with Duo Jr. The children and Hilde looked frightened. The others resigned. The same expression soldiers wore when they went to war.

“Duo…” Quatre said weakly.

Duo nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Meet us there when you can,” Trowa told Heero who nodded silently.

Trowa wrapped a comforting arm around Quatre’s shoulders and, accompanied by Rashid, Ahmed, Malcolm, and Iria, the newlyweds left the reception.

From behind him, Trowa could hear Duo’s voice over the entertainment system. “Alright guys and gals!” His voice was bright, loud, and jesterly. He sounded like normal Duo.

“Because they have to make a big scene out of everything, the newlyweds have left the party. But, that doesn’t mean the fun is over! We’re here all night or at least until there’s still people with money left to tip the staff.”

A round of subdued laughter trickled from the reception.  
“But, really, our fantastic DJ, DJ Rajah, is here all night. The belly dancers are here for a little while longer, so enjoy them while you can. Request songs…”

Duo’s voice faded away as they walked down the hall of the mansion. Quatre leaned against Trowa’s side as the group traveled in the direction of the helipad. Trowa’s arm around him was a comfort. It was warm and strong. He felt loved and protected.

His head throbbed, worse than it had all night. His steps faltered as he pressed a hand to his head. He closed his eyes tight against the pain.

Trowa felt the change. He paused and looked down. “Quatre?”

Rashid came up beside them. “What is it, Master?”

Quatre shook his head. “My head just hurts, “ he answered through gritted teeth.

“You’ve had a headache all night,” Trowa said with concern. “I thought it was better after your nap.”

“Did you take the tramadol,” Rashid asked. Quatre nodded, squeezing his eyes tighter against the pain. It wasn’t getting better. He needed it to stop.

“When did the tramadol stop working?” Iria asked with a frown, coming up in front of Quatre.

“He probably needs something stronger,” Malcolm said.

A force like resounding thunder struck his head. The power behind it caused his legs to give out. He fell to his knees with a painful shout. Trowa sank to the floor with him, supporting his weight and cushioning his fall.

So many voices rang out around him. They pierced his brain through his ears, his eyes, everywhere. His brain was Julius Caesar and the voices of his loved ones were murdering him.

“That’s not a seizure!” Iria yelled in frustration.

“It’s the pressure on his brain,” Malcolm growled as he knelt on the floor in front of Quatre.

Quatre had thought he’d known pain before. He’d been shot. Multiple times. A bullet wound was excruciating. People think it’s a cliche when you say you don’t even feel it, at least at first. But there was some truth there. The adrenaline is so high, you can still function for a while afterward, even through the pain.

Adrenaline was a powerful thing. Perhaps the cliche was exactly that because it was true. That had been Quatre’s experience. The first time anyway.

It hadn’t been for the second and third time he’d been shot. His body had immediately gone into shock from a combination of pain and blood loss. He’d almost died then. He didn’t remember much of it. Just the pain. The white-hot, searing pain of the bullet tunneling through his flesh and out the other side.

That pain had been blinding and fierce. He’d also been stabbed, run clean through with a rapier by Dorothy Catalonia.  
The rapier was sharp with a fine edge and it doesn’t take much force to pierce the skin.

The thrust had been clean, followed through with conviction. The pressure had hurt. Something being where it wasn’t supposed to. Again, the shock and blood loss had caused him to pass out. Trowa had come to his aide then. He’d been able to fight through the pain eventually. Even injured the way he’d been, he’d been able to help destroy the falling piece of Libra from falling to Earth.

But this...this was immobilizing.

Everything fell away. All that was left was the all-encompassing pain in his head. It felt like someone squeezing a blueberry until it splattered. The pressure was constant, never letting up. He wished his head would just explode and be done with it.

“Make it stop,” Quatre begged, crying, as he tried to position himself in a position that would offer some relief.

Malcolm knelt down in front of him and opened his bag. “I got you, kid,” Malcolm said soothingly. He took a clear bottle and filled a syringe with the liquid housed inside. He looked into Trowa’s eyes. “Hold him still, son.”

Trowa held Quatre tight, held him close. Rashid dropped next to them and helped keep Quatre still. Malcolm unbuttoned Quatre’s cufflink and rolled up the sleeve, exposing Quatre’s arm before tying a rubber tourniquet above his elbow. Once he found a healthy vein, he inserted the needle and pushed down on the plunger.

Quatre calmed down, almost instantly. Iria handed Malcolm a cotton ball, which he pressed down on Quatre’s arm before carefully withdrawing the needle. Iria took it and disposed of it as Malcolm taped the absorbent cotton in place.

“What was that?” Trowa asked as Quatre relaxed in his arms.

 

“Morphine,” Malcolm replied, putting his things away. “Just enough to get him to the hospital comfortably. His oncology doctor can decide what to put him on from there.”

Rashid gently took Quatre from Trowa’s arms, lifting him up gently. Quatre appeared to be fast asleep in the big man’s arms. Everyone watched Quatre with concern.

“The morphine will cause him to sleep a bit,” Iria reassured them. Her voice was strained with emotion. “He should be okay until he gets to the hospital.”

“Alright, let’s go,” Rashid ordered. “Abdul’s probably already got the helo ready by now.”

***

Everyone sat in or stood around Quatre’s hospital room. Trowa was leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed and brooding, staring, unseeing into Quatre’s room through a window.

Rashid, Ahmed, and Abdul were currently in the room with Quatre. Quatre was a beloved member of the Maguanacs. No one had wanted to intrude on their prayers for him.

Quatre’s neurologist, a handsome, middle-aged man who wore his years well, walked over to their group. “Mr. Winner?”

Trowa continued to stare blankly into Quatre’s room. He obviously hadn’t noticed the doctor walk up. He hadn’t heard the man’s voice call his name.

It had been deliberate, on his part, to take Quatre’s last name. Quatre hadn’t cared, one way or the other. He’d even expected Trowa to keep the last name, Barton. They were halfway through their careers. Trowa had crafted a reputation attached to that name which was recognizable within federal agencies.

But Trowa’s name was borrowed. He never really minded, until he truly sat down and thought about it. No one had given him the name Trowa Barton. He’d simply took it, as a necessary measure for the task ahead of him, to fight OZ.

He was thirty-three. The name Trowa Barton was his, as much as it had been the previous owner’s. But there was something appealing in the idea of taking Quatre’s last name as his own. They were getting married after all. Taking a significant other’s last name was still tradition, though power couples with individual brands had a tendency to not change their names for marketing reasons.

But he was a Preventer officer. He was one of the numerous suits that did the work that kept the world safe. Outside of Preventer, he was nobody, regardless of what his name was. The concept of taking Quatre’s last name when they got married had a lot of appeal. It was traditional. A completely normal evolution of an individual’s name.

He wasn’t just Trowa Barton anymore. Cathy wasn’t just his un-official adopted sister. He was Trowa Winner, husband of Quatre Raberba Winner. He now had twenty-nine sisters-in-law.

“Trowa.”

Trowa started at the sharp sound of Heero’s voice saying his name. He looked to his left. Heero stared at the doctor. Trowa followed his gaze. The doctor, who had been treating Quatre since he’d arrived in the area, looked at Trowa questioningly, as if he wasn’t sure what to call him.

“Mr. Winner?”

The man had an angular face, high cheekbones, straight nose, and dark, smoky eyes accented nicely with a close-cropped beard and mustache that was almost as gray as it was black.

“Yeah?” _He’s Quatre’s type_ , Trowa thought distractedly as he pushed himself off the wall and joined the man. Cathy placed a comforting hand on his arm as he walked past, not that he noticed. “What is it?”

“I’m afraid I have bad news,” he said quietly.

They talked in hushed tones while the others waited. Duo was propped against the wall, his head hanging low in defeat, cradled by Hilde, standing in front of him. She stood, like a pillar of strength in front of her husband, ready to carry any burden. Wufei and Sally sat next to each other in silence. Heero and Relena had turned to each other, discussing something quietly between them. Jeyda, Iria, and Cathy, all stood in a semi-circle together. The children had been left at the mansion, under the paternal care of Commander Sada Ul.

Trowa put his hands on his hips as the doctor showed him Quatre’s newest brain scans. “These are the most recent scans,” the doctor said in very good English. The masses from the tumors looked huge in comparison to the rest of Quatre’s brain tissue.

“They look huge,” Trowa said quietly. He hadn’t realized just how big Quatre’s tumors were. Seeing the evidence stole any hope he’d been harboring. Quatre’d tried to warn him.

The doctor nodded. “Much bigger than they were two months ago.”

Trowa looked down at the ground, steeling himself for what was next. Quatre had trusted him with this. He’d promised him he’d do what needed to be done.

Trowa took a deep breath and looked back up at the doctor. “How long does he have?”

The doctor looked at him with sympathy. “You’re not going to like it.”

***

  
Relena leaned into Heero’s arms, seeking comfort. Heero wrapped his arms around her, rubbing her bare shoulders soothingly.

“Remember the time,” she said, half crying- half laughing into his shoulder. “When Quatre asked me to be his date at that autumn goodwill gala several years back?”

Heero smiled. He did. He’d been out on assignment, so had Trowa, which had coincidentally left both significant others without their respective partners.

In an effort to _not_ get constantly propositioned for a one-night tryst or an even longer relationship, Quatre had asked Relena to be his date. Trowa’s work in Preventer at the time had kept him away from home more often than not, and due to the sensitivity of his missions, it was better if Quatre didn’t confirm or deny his relationship with Trowa. It helped Trowa at work, but left Quatre to be consistently placed on the most-eligible bachelor list at every social function and apparently being gay did not dissuade plenty of women from trying to score. The guys were at least more surreptitious about it.

Fearing a similar fate, Relena had instantly agreed. She’d been relieved to attend such a political spotlight with one less thing to worry about and a friend on her arm for backup in case she needed to be rescued from a boring or awkward conversation.

Heero had been a little jealous, he’d had to admit, after seeing them in pictures together. They’d made a commanding pair that night. The young, handsome, influential business savant, heir to an empire and the current Foreign Minister, Princess of the destroyed Sanq Kingdom, and former Queen of the World.

All the magazines had run their picture together for a week. “The World’s Premier Power Couple” they had been called. It really had been hilarious. Quatre might be a flirt, but he only went to bat for one team.

Quatre and Relena had laughed it up and had a fun time of it. They’d taken plenty of playfully innocent candids between the two of them, sending them to both Trowa and Heero. Some of them had even made the two absent boyfriends wonder why on Earth anyone would entrust such influential business to those two.

Heero looked down at her, about to answer when he noticed Trowa stalking towards them. His face had lost all color. Carefully, he extricated himself from his wife’s arms. Relena turned, watching him as he walked up to Trowa.

“What is it?”

Trowa’s jaw worked in silent agitation. Hands still on his hips, he looked down at the ground, then looked back up. “Quatre just went from six months to less than three.”

Heero’s eyes widened in shock. He looked into Trowa’s troubled eyes. His best friend looked down at him. He could see the pain, the fear, and the anger in them. Tears were beginning to form.  
“How the hell am I supposed to tell him that?” Trowa asked quietly, so only he could hear. His voice cracked at the end.

All Heero could do was place a supportive hand on Trowa’s shoulder and squeeze as the guy walked toward Cathy and Quatre’s sisters.

***

Quatre’s eyes slowly opened. The room was dark. He was laying on his side and could see Trowa sitting in a chair near a window. A book laid open in his lap, a hand barely keeping it from falling. His head was in his other hand, his eyes closed, as his chest rose and fell in the steady rhythm of sleep.

Quatre smiled. Steadfast Trowa. After all that had happened between them, the fact that he loved him enough to marry him in his dying days melted his heart. The man was better than he deserved.

Trowa must have felt his eyes on him because he reopened his own and lifted his head. It took a moment for sleepy Trowa to notice he was awake. When he did, he pushed himself out of the chair in a hurry. He quietly set the book aside and carefully crawled onto the hospital bed next to him. Quatre shifted until they were both on their sides, snuggled in each other’s arms.

“It’s late,” Quatre said.

“Rashid sent everyone else home. Iria and Jeyda are outside though. They’re all probably asleep by now.”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“It was bound to happen,” Trowa said comfortingly. He ran a hand absently through Quatre’s hair. “They’re putting you on morphine.”

“So more sleeping,” Quatre complained.

“They’ll give you something else to counteract that.”

Silence descended between them.

“Trowa?”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t play violin anymore,” Quatre said quietly before burying his head into Trowa’s shoulder.

Trowa’s heart plummeted and emotion caught in his throat. He closed his eyes and held Quatre a little tighter. Quatre loved to play. It soothed him. He played when he was happy when he was sad, anxious, or confused. The violin was as much a part of Quatre as everything else was. He lived to play the violin. He was damn good at it too. It was one of his favorite expressions for his artistic soul. For him to lose that…

“It’s bad isn’t it?” Quatre whispered.

Trowa squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that threatened to fall. He pressed his head against Quatre’s. “Two months.” His voice broke, betraying him.

Quatre balled a piece of Trowa’s shirt in one of his hands and tried to bury himself closer to Trowa. They fell asleep together, each shedding silent tears.


	7. Chapter 7

“Okay, okay. Who...is more likely to be the first to die in a scary movie?” A round of laughter came from everyone.

“Duo’s the pretty one,” Quatre offered.

“That means I’ll stick around,” Duo argued. “At least for the first half.”

“Which makes you the ethnic minority,” Quatre said to Wufei.

“You’re dead, Wufei,” Heero said with a smirk.

“And who says racism is dead,” Wufei muttered as he took his card.

“Hey,” Quatre interjected. “Some communities still stone people like us.”

“Well that got dark real quick,” Duo said awkwardly.

“My bad,” Quatre said, sounding much more chipper than he should have. “Next card is...Who is most likely to be a danger to themselves?” Quatre scrunched up his face as he flipped the card back on forth, checking out the front and back. “Really?”

Trowa took the card away from him and set it in the middle of the group. “We’ll just put that in the ‘everyone’ pile.”

They laughed as Heero picked up the next card. He read it and chuckled before reading it out loud. It took him a few tries before he could do it with a straight face. “Who is a total brand whore,” Heero offered it to Quatre. “Take your card, Quatre.”

Quatre snapped the card from his hand. “With pleasure.” Jokes were traded, mostly at Quatre’s expense, as Wufei picked up a card and started to read it.

“It’s getting late,” Cathy said quietly as she came to stand next to Iria who was watching the five guys from a doorway.

“Yeah,” Iria agreed with a bittersweet smile. “But he’s enjoying himself. He hasn’t had this much energy in weeks.”

Quatre had been released from the hospital the morning after he’d been admitted on the night of his wedding to Trowa. There had been no point in keeping him longer. There was nothing to be done to keep the tumors from growing. All that was left was to make him comfortable, so the decision had been made to return to Sada Ul’s mansion.

In the weeks that had followed, Quatre’s stamina had drastically decreased. The epileptics prevented any more seizures and the morphine eased his pain, but even with the Adderall to counteract the morphine’s drowsiness, Quatre was nearly bedridden.

Some days, like today, he had enough energy to be somewhat active, but those were becoming fewer and farther between.

Cathy put a comforting hand on Iria’s arm. Iria covered Cathy’s with her own and squeezed. A silent gesture of gratitude.

It was good to see him having a rare day like tonight. He looked happy, truly happy, sitting on the floor leaning against Trowa’s long muscular frame. His husband draped an arm across his shoulders, subconsciously claiming him as his. The two of them sat with their backs against the sofa, giving Quatre extra support. The coffee table had been pushed out of the way, making room for Heero, Duo, and Wufei to face the two newlyweds to form a circle, so they could all sit close and play that silly card game.

Iria was worried. So was everyone else. IT was obvious that Quatre was getting worse. If he went anywhere it was with a cane and he wasn’t allowed to be alone, just in case anything happened to him.

“Let him have his fun,” Iria said. “He doesn’t have many days like this left. He should enjoy them while he can.”

“Who...will make a great cougar?”

***

Several days later, Trowa was sitting on the floor in Quatre’s sitting room. Quatre was asleep, napping on a soda while Trowa read a book. He’d been reading a lot more these days. That and talking with Cathy, Rashid, and his sisters-in-law.

Quatre spent more and more time sleeping as the days went on, which left Trowa to find his own respite from the pain of watching the home of his heart slowly die.

It wasn’t easy. In the end, he’d started reading Quatre’s collection of classic pre-A.C. sci-fi novels. After reading a few himself, he finally understood Quatre’s geeky appreciation of them.

Quatre moaned and shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. Trowa discarded the book in his hand, turning around with a worried assessment of him. His husband held a hand to his head with his eyes squeezed shut against the pain in his head.

“Quatre?” Trowa called softly. A bright blue eye popped open even as the other stayed firmly closed.

“I’m okay.”

Trowa frowned. He wasn’t convinced. He shifted to face Quatre. He gently thumbed Quatre’s cheek. “No, you’re not.”

Quatre ignored him. He pointed to the book Trowa had negligently tossed to the floor. “You’re reading _The Hyperion Dossier_ ,” he said with a small smile.

Trowa rested his chin on the sofa, next to Quatre’s side. He returned Quatre’s smile. It was hard not to when Quatre looked at him like that. Quatre was still in fairly good spirits, even if everyone else wasn’t.

“It’s not bad,” he admitted. “Their depiction of Mars, however…” He shrugged.

“It’s an old book,” Quatre said sedately. Trowa allowed his eyes to roam over Quatre’s face, imprinting every line, every crease, and curve to memory. Caressing the side of Quatre’s face, he moved Quatre’s long bangs out of his eyes.

Quatre’s lips twitched, flirting into a full-blown smile at the sweet show of affection before being chased away by another wave of pain. Quatre squeezed his eyes shut again and tried to curl in on himself, trying to escape a pain he knew he couldn’t.

“Trowa.” Quatre’s moan was plaintive and absolutely heart-shattering.

Quatre didn’t like taking the morphine until he absolutely needed it. It was a tricky needle to thread, taking as little to hold the pain back while retaining the coherency to enjoy the time he had left.

Quatre choked back a sob and pleadingly called his name again.

Trowa was already in motion, turning around and picking up a simple wooden box that had been sitting on the coffee table in front of them. He opened it. Nestled inside, cushioned by black velvet, sat a vial of clear liquid and a syringe.

Trowa carefully filled it as he’d been taught, making sure the appropriate dose was in there with no air bubbles before turning back to Quatre. Tears were freely flowing down Quatre’s face, even as he tried to stay quiet. Bawling his eyes out only ever increased the pain in his head.

“I got you,” Trowa said soothingly as he wrapped his empty hand around Quatre’s forearm and extending it towards him. Quatre sobbed a little harder as a sliver of sunshine hit his eyes, worsening his headache, but he didn’t resist.

Trowa inserted the needle, made sure he was in the right place and pushed the plunger down. He pulled the needle out and, running his hand through Quatre’s hair, whispered, “You’re alright.”

Within seconds, Quatre’s body relaxed, tension melting from him like butter over a fire. His breathing deepened as the morphine swept Quatre away into a painless slumber.

Trowa rested his forehead against Quatre’s and closed his eyes. He felt Quatre’s warm body under him, his slow, even breathing. He put these things to memory, like everything else about him before turning back to the table and putting the bottle and syringe away. Tears fell from his eyes as he closed the lid and pushed the box away. He pulled his knees to his chest and watched Quatre sleep, blissfully unaware of the pain of those around him.

Trowa wrapped his arms around his knees, buried his face in them, and cried.

***  
Quatre busied himself around the kitchen, leaning on his cane as he went. He’d woken up absolutely famished for the first time in weeks. He couldn’t eat solids very well anymore, but smoothies...They’d become his best culinary friend. He’d gotten rather creative with them. Usually turned out pretty good too.

“You’re energetic today,” Rashid commented from the doorway. His casual lean belied the acute attention to detail he gave to his Master’s movements, ready to spring into action should the need arise.

Quatre had been able to convince him to allow him to bustle around the kitchen himself. He’d always enjoyed cooking. Having the energy to make anything on his own had become a treat these days.

“And I’m taking advantage of it,” Quatre said as he popped a piece of kiwi in his mouth. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head as the juicy, acidic fruit melted in his mouth.

A ruckus down the hall caught Rashid’s attention. Quatre’s bright blue eyes met Rashid’s dark coffee colored ones. Quatre jerked his head slightly. “Go check it out if you want.”

“But Master…”

Quatre smiled. “I’ve been fine so far today.” He flashed him a smile. “Besides, I have a cane and a whopping four feet between the island counter and the blender.” Rashid didn’t seem impressed with his humor. “There are plenty of things to lean on. If I feel weak, I can just sit myself down and wait for you to come back.”

Rashid considered Quatre critically for a moment before acquiescing. “Alright,” Rashid said grudgingly. “But don’t do anything else until I come back.”

“I promise.”

 

Rashid stared at him a moment longer before leaving. Quatre twisted around in a circle as he tried to remember what he’d been about to do. Oh, right. He needed a banana.

It took him longer than it should have to make his smoothie. He kept misplacing things, forgetting what he was doing. Annoying, yes. Unexpected, no. But now he was having trouble finding the glass he’d set aside. He needed it now that the blender had finished mushing his food together.

Standing in front of the blender, he looked around, trying his best not to move if he could help it. He caught something out of the corner of his eye. The glass was on the island. He didn’t remember putting it there, but oh well. Quatre smiled. “So that’s where you went.”

Quatre turned around, carefully leaning on his cane so as not to overbalance. In the middle between the counter and the island, his feet began tingling. Quatre frowned. The feeling spread upwards, past his knees quickly. He tried to reach the island, but his legs gave out before he could get there.

Quatre fell, arms out, fingers spread wide, hoping to find purchase somewhere. “Rashid!” He called out for help as he fell. He managed to lurch himself half over the counter. Unable to grip the far edge, he slowly slid down while he tried to find something else to hold him up.

He called for help again. He tried to use his arms to push himself back up, at least enough to lay across the counter like a sack of potatoes until Rashid came back, but he wasn’t strong enough.

His fingers slipped. He lost his hold on the granite, hitting his head on the edge as he fell. The world went black and then there was nothing.

When Rashid came back into the room minutes later after helping some of the household staff get a large rug up a flight of steps, he didn’t hear Quatre bustling around. The silence concerned him, though it was possible he’d fallen asleep on the tile. He’d done it more than once already.

What he saw or, more to the point, what he didn’t see when he entered the doorway sent a painful fear through him. Quatre wasn’t there. Not initially. Until he looked down.

Rashid spotted the top of Quatre’s blond head on the floor behind the island counter. His cry was strangled as he rushed over to his downed master.

Quatre was unresponsive as Rashid dropped to his knees beside him, calling his name. Gently, Rashid pulled him into his arms, cradling his head and neck protectively. A slick, red-brown, gash above his left eye matted hair to his head. Quatre had obviously hit his head on the way down.

Desperately, Rashid checked for a pulse. It was there. Weak and fluttery. But there all the same. He breathed a momentary sigh of relief as several of the other Maguanacs clambered into the kitchen, shouting fearful questions as they came.

“Someone start the helo,” he called. “Call Trowa!” His men sprang into action, following his orders without question. Two stayed behind and helped Rashid lift their unconscious master.


	8. Chapter 8

Trowa waited at the terminal for Iria. Quatre’s sister had to return to her job as a doctor up in the colonies after the wedding, but she’d been able to secure vacation time so she could spend more time with her brother before the end. He wasn’t sure how he was going to be able to tell her.

Standing with his hands shoved into his jacket, he watched as she came into view. High heels, designer slacks, and a loose, flowy top, Iria looked all the part of a wealthy socialite prepared for the heat of the desert. She smiled from behind Gucci sunglasses as she noticed him, but it faded by the time she came up and hugged him.

“How bad?” she asked as he tucked his head into her shoulder and held her tight.

His throat was tight and he had to work to answer her. “Rashid found him unconscious,” he whispered. He couldn’t bring himself to say it any louder. “He’d stepped away for only a minute.” Iria gave him a sisterly squeeze before letting him go. Trowa stared at the ground. “When he came back…”

Standing close, she held out her hand, palm up. Without a word, Trowa placed his car keys in her hand. “You brought help?” she asked as she wrapped an arm around his side and guided him through the throng of people heading out of the terminal with their own loved ones. Trowa nodded. “Tell them to grab my things and take them to the Commander’s. We’ll go straight to the hospital, okay?” Trowa nodded again.

Even with airport traffic, they were walking down the hall toward Quatre’s room in less than twenty minutes. He saw Rashid standing next to a room door. He looked to the side as he made his way up to the big man.

Through a long window, he could see Quatre’s weak frame hooked up to all kinds of machines. His breathing was shallow and thready, despite the oxygen mask covering his face. Trowa’s steps faltered until he came to a stop, eyes transfixed on the ominous sight in front of him.

“The oxygen is just helping what his body is doing naturally. They know not to resuscitate him once he goes,” Rashid’s low baritone rumbled quietly.

Trowa looked at Rashid. The man’s face was pale, strained, and Trowa could see damp tracks staining his face. “How…” he croaked.

Rashid shook his head in defeat. “They said it won’t be long.” Trowa stumbled to the side, shouldering himself against the wall to keep himself from hitting the floor. Iria came up beside him, grasping on to his free arm.

His eyes weren’t in focus as he stared at the ugly cream colored floor, but he did feel Rashid shift, then move in front of him, supporting Trowa’s weight with his own. He felt Rashid tip his head toward the room. “Everyone else has been in,” he heard Rashid say quietly to Iria. “Go. I’ll take care of him.”

Iria left his side, though he barely registered her absence. Rashid gently eased him to the floor, using the hallway wall to prop him up. Rashid crouched next to him, large arms resting on his knees. Trowa stared blankly at the opposite wall.

“They said less than three months,” he said quietly. “It’s been barely two.” It was like this situation had been a shock. He couldn’t fully wrap his mind around it. Quatre’d had lots of hospital visits lately. He’d always come home.

Rashid dropped a massive paw on his shoulder, causing him to bobble side to side. He turned his head slowly to face Rashid. The man looked broken, hurting as much as he was himself. “We knew this would happen.”

The only thing Trowa could force out was a plaintive “I know, but…” Rashid squeezed his shoulder.

“He needs you to be strong, Trowa,” Rashid said, his own voice cracking with emotion. “You need to help him let go. He’ll try holding on if you don’t.” Rashid shook his head. “We can’t be selfish.”

Trowa looked back to the cold, clinical floor below him and nodded. Rashid was right. Quatre had held on as long as he could. He just couldn’t do it anymore.

Memories raced past his eyes. The first time they’d met, standing outside their Gundams. Each surrendering to the other. Quatre insistently trying to crack through his hard shell, trying to be a friend. The end of the war. The Mariemaia Incident. Quatre going to school. The Italy trip. Quatre going off to college, Trowa transferring Preventer stations to follow. Their saga-esque on and off relationship over the years. They’d always failed for one reason or another, but they’d eventually come back to each other, like clockwork. Rashid calling him with the terrible news. Their glorious reunion in the indoor garden. Quatre had never finished that peacock. The wedding.

A shake to his shoulder, caused him to look up. Rashid had stood at some point. The big man towered over him, a hand outstretched toward him. He heard Iria’s voice down the hall. Then Jeyda’s. Both were crying. Iria had said goodbye to her brother.

With muted resignation, Trowa grasped Rashid’s hand, allowing him to pull him to his feet. Silently, Trowa walked past him and into the room. The image before him almost knocked him to the floor again.

He sat in the single chair next to Quatre and held Quatre’s thin hand in his own. His attention zeroed in on the gash along Quatre’s hairline, cleaned and now held together with butterfly strips. The nurses looked to have cleaned up the blood that had marred his beautiful golden hair, but some dried flecks remained.

Trowa gently stroked the back of his fingers across Quatre’s cheek. He brought Quatre’s fingers to his lips and kissed them, his thumb rolling over the ring he’d recently put on his hand.

“I love you,” he told him. “I wish you could stay, but we both know you can’t.” Tears rolled down his face. He closed his eyes against the harsh truth he’d known was coming. He sobbed, then pulled in a wet breath and looked back to the man he loved. “Everyone’s here. We’ll be okay. _I’ll_ be okay.”

“We fought together, fought for each other.” He smiled a bittersweet smile. “We were destined to be together, you and I.” He brushed Quatre’s beautiful bangs out of eyes that wouldn’t open again. “But it’s time for you to go now. You don’t deserve to be kept here. Not like this. You will always, always be with me. Just do me a favor. Say hi to your mom for me.”

The cold, animatronic sound of the heart rate monitor blipped in the background a while longer until it didn’t anymore, falling to a low, constant lull as Quatre’s heart stopped. Trowa closed his eyes again, holding Quatre’s hand close, and cried.


	9. Alternate Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternate ending for those who might not be okay with the first one. In the spirit of the movie CLUE, I give you...an alternate ending. Cheers.

Trowa sat next to Quatre, gently caressing his beautiful face as he breathed weakly with the help of an oxygen mask. The doctors had put one on when he’d been brought in by Commander Sada Ul’s private helicopter. They were supporting his body’s ability to pull in air without contradicting his DNR. Trowa had been appreciative. It had given them enough time for everyone to take turns visiting, saying goodbye.

All that was left to do, was wait. And Trowa wasn’t about to leave Quatre’s side for one second. He’d stay with his husband, stay with him until his parents came and took him to join them.

A loud commotion outside jolted him from his thoughts. With a frown, he half-turned, looking out the room window. In the hallway, a short, balding man was bent over, gasping for breath. Oddly, he held what looked to be a small fishing tackle box in his right hand.

Trowa looked back to Quatre. He didn’t seem any different than he had the last few minutes. Reluctantly, he stood up and walked out into the hallway. “What’s going on?” he demanded. His husband was dying in that room. The last thing he needed was to be distracted by whatever else.

Iria turned to Trowa and held out her hand towards the short man. “This is Dr. Polk, Trowa. He’s the doctor Quatre was collaborating with about a possible stem cell treatment.”

“He said they weren’t ready for human testing,” Duo said, threading himself through the front of the audience that had formed outside Quatre’s room.

“They weren’t,” Dr. Polk said, finally righting himself. “We only recently got the permission for a human study and the funding and the processes set up. I was hoping it wasn’t too late to help him.”

Trowa looked uncertainly at the little man. The last thing he needed was false hope. “He’s dying. The doctors say he might not last the night.”

Dr. Polk looked up into his eyes. The man’s icy grey-blue eyes were honest and clinical. “He would be our most severe case of the study, but…I made the case to the board for testing the treatment’s reach. We don’t want to just see that it works. We want to see to what extent, it works. I already have permission to go ahead and give him the treatment here.”

“He has a standing DNR,” Trowa said.

“Which you can overrule,” Iria told him. They looked at each other. The possibility of holding on to Quatre for a while longer was tempting. No one wanted to lose him, but Quatre had been clear. He didn’t want to be put on a ventilator.

“Trowa.” Trowa half turned in the direction of the voice. Duo walked up and spoke quietly. “The day after Cora’s birthday, we were talking. I was still pissed at him for keeping his cancer a secret, but that’s not the point…”

“Which is…?”

Duo looked into his eyes. “Trowa, he told me he was willing to exhaust all options. _All_ options. He was hopeful for this stem cell thing. He was _on the fucking waiting list_.”

Trowa’s eyes widened. “He what?” Quatre hadn’t mentioned anything about that.

“He didn’t tell you?” Trowa shook his head. Duo shrugged. “He probably thought it was a lost cause by then. Point is...he didn’t have a chance to say yes.” Duo looked up at him searchingly. “Do you really think he’d say no to a possible cure? Really?”

Trowa turned back to face Dr. Polk. “What’s involved?” he asked. “Quatre was very clear on what he wanted. I’m not going to go against his wishes lightly.”

“It’s a series of injections,” the doctor explained. “It’s painless. Just needs time to work.”

“How much time?” Rashid asked.

“We’ve been seeing improvement within a month of the first injection.”

Trowa fell backward a few steps. He placed a hand on the back of his neck and closed his eyes. A month? Defying Quatre’s wishes for a month? Was he really considering putting his dying husband through that?

He looked back to Dr. Polk. “It’s painless?” he asked reluctantly.

The doctor nodded. “He might experience some pain from the brain tumors, but he’s already on morphine for that. Nothing from the stem cell treatment will add to his discomfort.”

“And if he doesn’t show improvement?”

“You can decide to let him go at any time. No one is going to force you to do otherwise. If there is no improvement within a month, it will be highly unlikely that it will work at all. You can just let him go.”

Trowa looked over at Rashid, debating. He saw Quatre’s confidant doing the same. They all knew what they wanted, but is it what Quatre would have wanted?

“He would have wanted the chance,” Trowa told him. Rashid nodded in agreement. Trowa turned to Dr. Polk. “Do it.”  
He prayed a silent prayer as the doctor entered Quatre’s room. He prayed he was doing the right thing. He prayed this hail mary would work.

***

Trowa was absently playing the flute, nothing more than practicing scales really, next to Quatre’s hospital bed. It was the start of week two and he was waiting for the results from Quatre’s latest brain scan to come back. Rashid and Iria had gone down to the cafeteria for a coffee run.

Trowa paused, letting the floaty B flat fade. He looked down to Quatre. Soon after he had given the stem cell doctor the go-ahead to treat Quatre, Quatre had stopped being able to breathe on his own. Quatre had been adamant that he hadn’t wanted to be put on a ventilator. He remembered the conversation like yesterday. But for a chance to save his life...Whether it worked or not, Trowa hoped Quatre would forgive him breaking that promise.

A soft knock on the door tore his gaze away from his husband. It was one of the several doctors that were now coordinating Quatre’s treatment.

And his smile almost split his face in half.

Slowly, Trowa stood up. He carefully placed the flute on the seat he’d just vacated. “Seriously?” he asked breathlessly.

The doctor walked in, turned off the light, and put the scan up on the backlit board. He circled Quatre’s largest tumors with a pen, though it didn’t leave a mark on the print. “These here have been reduced by almost ten percent.”

“They still look huge,” Trowa said, taking a spot next to the doctor.

“Well they are,” he said with a shrug. He gave Trowa a sideways smile. “But without those stem cells...He would have died two weeks ago.”

Trowa stared at the man in disbelief. “Does that mean?”

“It’s not a guarantee,” the doctor warned. The man was still smiling. “But this is good. This is _really, really_ good.”

A smile pulled at his own face. He turned around and went to Quatre’s side. He leaned one hand on his bed, taking Quatre’s hand in the other. “Hear that, Quatre?” he asked. “We have a chance.”

***

Within a month of starting treatment, they were able to take Quatre off life support. He, Rashid, and Iria had held their breaths when the doctors had turned the machine off. Miraculously, Quatre’s chest hadn’t stopped its steady up and down rhythm. The milestone almost made him cry. Iria had.

Quatre’s tumors continued to shrink. They were now roughly only sixty percent of what they had been. He was receiving a treatment every month at this point and it was working.

Another month passed and Quatre’s tumors had decreased to a mere twenty percent. Everyone had hoped that by now, with the tumors diminishing in size, Quatre would regain consciousness on his own. He hadn’t yet.

They were still a ways off from being truly concerned that he might not wake up at all, even with the success of the treatment, but the fear nagged at Trowa. Partially to hold back the nagging fear that gnawed his insides and partially in an attempt to lead Quatre back, Trowa had started reading aloud Quatre’s sci-fi novels to him.

Trowa sat in his usual chair next to Quatre’s bed, holding the most recent endeavor into Quatre’s novels by resting his forearms against the bed’s side rail. The sturdy plastic had begun to indent itself into Trowa’s skin after so long of leaning like so with his sweater sleeves pushed up. He was so engrossed in the book, however, that he hardly noticed.

“...at the five Lagrange points… Huh,” Trowa said with mild surprise. “They got something right.”

“Told you they weren’t all bad.”

Trowa stopped reading mid-sentence. After a pause, he looked toward Quatre as he lowered the book. Quatre’s big blue eyes were staring at him. His eyelids were droopy with sleep, but they were open.

Trowa was a flurry of motion. He shoved the chair backward, launching to his feet, and throwing his arms around Quatre. The book landed disrespectfully between Quatre’s legs.

Quatre could feel the wetness of Trowa’s hot tears against his skin. Weakly, Quatre brought a hand to rest on the back of Trowa’s head and smiled. “Sorry,” he told his husband quietly. “I passed out again, didn’t I?”

Trowa leaned away so he could meet Quatre’s eyes. “Quatre,” he said quietly. “You’ve been unconscious for two months. Quatre blinked repeatedly. If only he had brown eyes, he would have looked like a deer.

“I what?” Quatre looked as if he hadn’t heard properly.

Trowa pushed himself off Quatre and, after a brief moment of fighting to put the side rail down on Quatre’s bed, took a seat next to him. He smiled, gently brushing Quatre’s bangs away from his face. After two months, the guy needed a haircut.

“You fell,” he said, pushing past the lump in his throat. He shuddered at the memory of Rashid’s panicked phone call. He closed his eyes against the pain of the memory. When he opened his eyes, Quatre’s expression was concerned. “I’m okay,” Trowa promised with a smile and ran a thumb across Quatre’s cheek. He cleared his throat.

“You hit your head. Rashid found you. Rushed you here.” His voice hitched and was forced to take another moment to collect himself. “You were dying. We were losing you. Doctors said you might not make it through the night. Everyone was here.”

Quatre reached towards him. Trowa met him halfway, fingers twining together. Trowa offered another smile, but this time it was pain-free. “He said they’d been given the green light. You were already on the waiting list. So he started right then.”

Quatre’s eyes got even larger. He struggled to sit up. Not the easiest thing to do since he’d been two months almost completely immobile. “Stop, stop,” Trowa said, pulling his hand away from Quatre’s and planting it on his chest to keep him from flailing. With the push of a button, Trowa changed the angle of the bed to a sitting position.

“Trowa,” Quatre asked, his voice being the one that trembled this time. “Please tell me…” He couldn’t finish. Couldn’t ask the question. Didn’t want to hope when he knew he probably shouldn't.

Trowa smiled again. He choked a laugh, even as more tears ran down his face. “They’re shrinking, Quatre. They’re the smallest they’ve ever been since you’ve known.” Quatre put both hands over his mouth, speechless. This couldn’t be right. This was a dream. A good dream, but a dream nonetheless.

A soft knock on the door sounded, causing both men to look in its direction. Dr. Polk walked in, looking at what appeared to be his chart. “Trowa, I have…” He stopped, faltering in his path when he realized that Quatre was not only awake but sitting (with the help of the bed of course) and apparently in the middle of a conversation. A large smile split his face. “Well, the good news just keeps getting better.”

“Hi,” Quatre croaked. Dr. Polk laughed.

“You must have just woken up,” Dr. Polk said. “Since your husband hasn’t gotten anybody to check on you.” Trowa looked appropriately chagrined as the doctor stepped forward.

Dr. Polk checked his vitals and began doing some basic mobility tests. “You said good news?” Quatre asked hesitantly. Dr. Polk smiled and leaned on the side rail that had remained up.

“They’re smaller?” Trowa asked.

“Ten percent.”

Quatre and Trowa both momentarily lost the ability to breathe. Then smiles began to form. “Quatre,” Dr. Polk continued. “They’re small enough for us to take them out.”

“All of them?” Quatre asked. His voice was breathless. Hopeful, but afraid to believe.

Dr. Polk nodded. “Yeah. Now that you’re awake,” he said, tapping the chart in his hand against his thigh. “Once we get them out, which is...not without risk...it is brain surgery after all. Technology might have advanced, but things can still go wrong.”

“But after that?”

“After hanging out for a week for observation…” He shrugged. “Go home.” Hands flew back to Quatre’s mouth again as tears of relief formed.

“It’s that simple?” Trowa asked, reaching a hand out for Quatre’s.

“Well, there’s nothing simple about brain surgery. Computers and robots are helpful, sure, but...they can only do so much and humans do make mistakes and even if they don’t...surgeries can still go sideways and fail.” He nodded his head back and forth a little. “But basically...yeah.”

It was then that Rashid and Iria walked in. “Dr…” Rashid started to say. His deep rumble of a voice faded to nothing as he processed what was going on.

“Quatre!” Iria ran past Quatre’s doctor and hugged his neck. Polk lowered the guardrail next to her, so she wouldn’t be so constricted. In her excitement, she hadn’t bothered to move it herself.

Rashid’s eyes moistened at the sight in front of him. Quatre was awake. Alive and awake. Quatre stared back at him, wide-eyed in surprise even as he was almost pulled in two different directions with Trowa holding his hand on one side while being held close in Iria’s arms on his other.

Quatre smiled bashfully. “Rashid,” he said. “I’m going to be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, thanks for hanging in with me guys! This was a fun fic to write, even if it was heartbreaking at times. I really enjoyed writing it and hope that you all aren't too mad at me for the dual endings. I have several ideas for stories that I plan on writing, so be prepared for more Quatre-Trowa centric fics from me.


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